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HELD IN THE EVERGLADES 


BOOKS BY FATHER SPALDING 


Each with a Frontispiece. i2mo, cloth, 
each $1.25 postpaid 

THE CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK 
THE SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK 
THE MARKS OF THE BEAR CLAWS 
THE RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND 
THE SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER 
THE CAMP BY COPPER RIVER 
THE OLD MILL ON THE WITHROSE 
AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND-HILLS 
HELD IN THE EVERGLADES 






“The boy sat in the middle of the canoe, while the Indian, 
standing on the back seat, poled his craft slowly along ." — Page 55. 


HELD IN 

THE EVERGLADES 


BY 

REV. HENRY S. SPALDING S.J. 

M 



New York, Cincinnati, Chicago 

BENZIGER BROTHERS 

Publishers of Benziger ’s Magazine 


1919 






V. 


Copyright, 1919, bt Bexziger Brother* 



out -3 !9I9 





©CI.A536031 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER I 

The Coming op the Pelicans 9 

CHAPTER II 

Meeting Little Deer 18 

CHAPTER III 

The Reeds 27 

CHAPTER IV 

The Way to the Everglades 89 

CHAPTER V 

Into the Everglades 52 

CHAPTER VI 

Some Wonders of the Everglades .... 68 

CHAPTER VII 

The Enchanted Island 78 

CHAPTER VIII 

A Discovery and a War Song 81 


5 


6 Contents 

CHAPTER IX 

Solving the Mystery 

CHAPTER X 

The Slacker 

CHAPTER XI 

A Heart That Was True 

CHAPTER XII 

Private Max Gaudet 

CHAPTER XIII 

Unwelcome Visitors 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Surrender 

CPIAPTER XV 

Alone in the Palmettoes 

CHAPTER XVI 

The Messenger of the Air 

CHAPTER XVII 

Other Friends 

CHAPTER XVIII 

The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist . 

CHAPTER XIX 

Larger Game 


page 


96 

106 

114 

124 

134 

144 

154 

162 

171 

179 


Contents 


7 

PAGE 

CHAPTER XX 

Little Deer Number Two 187 

CHAPTER XXI 

Old Friends Meet 197 

CHAPTER XXII 

Answering the Message 208 

CHAPTER XXIII 

On the Wings of Evening 217 

CHAPTER XXIV 

The Last Flight 226 









































































1 

* 













■ 




V 






























\ 




9 






> 
























* 



































HELD IN THE 
EVERGLADES 


CHAPTER I 

THE COMING OF THE PELICANS 

N ovember came, and with November came 
the pelicans. In early March they had 
left their island homes, and in their untiring 
wanderings had drifted far apart; they had 
sailed over the measureless waters of the 
Caribbean Sea, they had dipped and fished 
along the weeded shoals of the Great Bahama 
Banks, and they had sought the deep recesses 
of wooded shores far up the Amazon River. 
All at once they were seized by a sudden in- 
stinct which impelled them to turn to their 
breeding place among the Ten Thousand 
Islands on the southwestern shore of Florida. 
9 


10 The Coming of the Pelicans 

They came singly and in groups. The first 
arrivals took possession of the abandoned nests 
of last year among the low mangrove trees; 
then every available space along the shores of 
the island was occupied. True, there were 
other islands, thousands of islands, near by, 
some of them with larger and taller man- 
groves; but to these not a pelican went. This 
single island was their nesting place, and to it 
the entire tribe flocked. 

What sedate and mannerly creatures they 
were. There was no noise of greeting, as 
with the coots and red-winged blackbirds. 
They paraded along the shore and over the 
island, calmly surveying the place; and then 
as if satisfied that all was right they nestled 
down upon the limbs of the mangrove or 
upon the weeds and grass. They were grace- 
ful flyers as they came sailing in from over 
the Gulf of Mexico or the channels among the 
many islands. Measuring seven feet from 
tip to tip, they rivaled the bald-headed eagle 
in their mastery of the air; but now that 
they were on the firm land they were awk- 
ward birds, and their gravity and sedateness 


The Coming of the Pelicans 11 

made them somewhat ridiculous. With their 
short tails and long bills it would seem that 
they were overbalanced and tended to a 
somersault. They lost no time in preparing 
their primitive nests of sticks and weeds. 
Often the nests were so close that the occu- 
pants touched their great bills and wings as 
they settled down. 

In past years, the coming of the pelicans 
had been of interest to the Reed family; but 
the novelty had worn off. Mr. Reed simply 
looked towards the island and remarked to his 
wife that the pelicans were back. He prom- 
ised to take the children over to the island 
when the day’s work was over. 

Just then every member of the family was 
needed. The early winter garden had been 
a great success, and Mr. Reed must hurry his 
produce to the markets. The new crop of 
potatoes would bring a fancy price in New 
York and Chicago; and there would be ready 
sale for the tomatoes, cucumbers and beans 
in every city of the North. 

As labor was scarce the Reeds did their 
own work. Even the children could help to 


12 The Coming of the Pelicans 

pull the vegetables and carry them to the 
crates. When a canoe load was ready the 
farmer rowed over to the dock, from which 
a small steamer took the produce to Fort 
Key, and express trains rushed the output to 
the markets. 

Everybody seemed to work with a heart 
except Phil. Mary and Elizabeth and Isabel 
and Marcella carried little baskets to the 
crates; Benjamin, aged four, imagined that he 
was helping, and even the baby Josephine 
cooed with quiet delight under the shade of a 
live oak tree. While father and mother labored 
all day in the sun, which was hot at noon, 
Phil had to be reminded several times that 
this was one of the busy seasons of the year 
and that delay in getting the produce to 
market meant serious loss. But Phil much 
to the distress of his foster parents, did not 
take the admonitions to heart. 

Early in the afternoon the boy managed to 
slip away towards one corner of the garden; 
and before the family were aware of his 
departure he was rowing towards Pelican 
Island. 


13 


The Coming of the Pelicans 

No one, in fact, could find serious fault 
with the curiosity of the boy. On that low 
and swampy island, where in the morning 
there was not a bird to be seen, now literally 
thousands of monster pelicans were marching 
around in solemn silence. Some one had re- 
marked that it was time for them to settle 
on the island. This Phil had heard, but he 
never for a moment imagined that so many 
pelicans could be found in all the world of 
birddom. 

“Where has that boy gone?” asked Mr. 
Reed who was the first to notice his absence. 

“Upon my word, if he isn’t rowing over to 
the island,” remarked the wife as she pointed 
towards the fugitive. 

“He hasn’t done as much work to-day as 
one of the girls,” said the husband. 

“He may do better later,” put in the wife. 

“He’s a lazy, lazy, boy; and I just ain’t 
goin to work either,” said Elizabeth, the sec- 
ond oldest girl, putting down her basket. 

Mary, the eldest, and little Isabel and Mar- 
cella, who had done heroic work all day long, 
now joined in the general strike; Benjamin 


14 The Coming of the Pelicans 

dropped the one potato which he was carry- 
ing, and even the baby under the tree began 
to cry. 

“That boy will work to-morrow and all 
day to-morrow, or he’ll never again sleep in 
our house,” were the emphatic words of Mr. 
Thomas Reed. 

“Let us give him a chance; he is young,” 
pleaded the wife. 

“He has had his chance, and the last he’ll 
get!” 

“Will you send him back to the orphan 
asylum?” 

“Yes, and I’ll put him on the first car.” 

“I had hoped that we would make a man of 
him.” 

“It isn’t in him! I saw that the first week 
he was with us.” 

“We have no charge to make against him.” 

“Aren’t laziness and disobedience suffi- 
cient?” 

“Suppose our own child disobeyed us, 
would we'overlook it?” asked the wife. 

Then there was silence. “We’ll do the 
work without him,” said the husband, v/ho was 


15 


The Coming of the Pelicans 

the first to speak. “I thought that we would 
have some one who could help us, and at the 
same time be a member of the family. But I 
have lost hope in this boy.” 

“I heard him tell the children that he was 
going to run away; if we are too hard on 
him he may carry out his threat,” urged the 
wife. 

“Yes, he said he was going on the lumber 
boat,” put in Elizabeth. 

“So much the better,” affirmed Mr. Reed. 
“So much the better. We will save the price 
of his ticket back to Brooklyn.” 

Soon the parents were at work, and the 
children imitating their good example, re- 
sumed their small tasks. 

Unaware of the comments passed upon him 
Phil rowed slowly towards the island. He 
was surprised to find that the big, sedate birds 
were in no way frightened at his approach. 
But while they seemed to ignore his coming, 
scores of them were on guard ready to give 
the alarm. What monster birds they were! 
The boy had never dreamed that birds grew 
so large. And the yellow sack that hung 


16 The Coming of the Pelicans 

beneath each one’s bill! Why the pelicans 
could almost swallow a little boy! Phil Reed 
was frightened. He crouched in the canoe as 
one of the largest of the pelicans darted into 
the water quite close to him. The boy thought 
at first that he was the object of attack; but 
into the water went the bird with a splash, to 
come out again with a fish six inches long. 

Then a curious thing happened. A little 
sea-gull came sailing in, lit on the pelican’s 
head, and reaching over took the tail of the 
fish in its bill. The gull had evidently played 
tricks upon pelicans before; for it watched 
its chance and, when the pelican opened its 
mouth to swallow the fish, sailed away, 
with the prize. Funniest of all, the 
pelican did not even look around to see what 
had become of its expected meal; it made no 
noise and no protest, but simply flew away to 
the island to join its companions. 

Phil became courageous. If the pelican 
would not fight for its fish and would allow 
a little sea-gull to rob it, surely a big boy 
would be safe among such birds. He decided 
to land. The canoe came slowly towards the 


17 


The Coming of the Pelicans 

shore, and still not a pelican stirred. He could 
almost hit the nearest one with his oar. At 
close view they seemed ungainly birds with 
tails ridiculously small and bills ridiculously 
large; but those overhead were masters of 
flying, and sailed in graceful curves, some- 
times alone and sometimes beating time with 
a leader. 

The boy stepped out on the sand, and still 
the pelicans did not stir. Then the oar fell 
from his hand and struck the canoe with a 
sharp note; all at once the entire flock took to 
flight and as their great wings beat the air 
it was like the blast of the tropical storms. 
The boy leaped to his canoe in fright and 
bewilderment. The whole island seemed to 
rise up with the vast army of winged mon- 
sters. 

When the noise subsided, Phil Reed was 
standing in the prow of his boat on a desert 
island. 


CHAPTER II 

MEETING LITTLE DEER 

“T}ig birds,” came a voice from behind. 

-13 Phil Reed turned and saw a Seminole 
Indian. 

“Gee!” cried the lad catching his breath, “I 
thought that the whole island was flying 
away.” 

“Would y-o-u like to fly away?” asked the 
Indian, with a prolonged emphasis on y-o-u. 

“I would like to get out of this place,” 
acknowledged Phil, “for they make me work 
too hard.” 

“Then come with me.” 

“Where?” 

“To the Everglades.” 

The eyes of the boy opened with an expres- 
sion of surprise and delight. 

18 


19 


Meeting Little Deer 

“How long will we stay?” he asked. 

“We’ll live there.” 

“All the time.” 

“Yes, or as long as you wish.” 

The appearance of the Indian was no sur- 
prise to the boy, for the Seminoles came and 
went at times among the islands. They were 
peaceful neighbors, saluting with a grunt as 
they passed silently along. But for the first 
time Phil saw one in a white man’s canoe, for 
they invariably used their own which were cut 
out of the log of a cypress-tree. However, 
he thought little of this, for the Indians were 
fast introducing the dress and customs of 
their former enemies. 

“And I won’t have to work?” asked the 
boy as he looked across the water and saw 
the Reed family laboring in the truck garden. 

“No work!” came the reply. 

“But what will we live on?” 

“Plenty fish, plenty birds, custard apples, 
palmetto cabbage.” 

Phil did not pause to consider that custard 
apples would not be ripe until the following 
August, and that palmetto cabbage could not 


20 Meeting Little Deer 

be obtained until late in spring; nor did he 
think of the rather uninviting dish of fish and 
birds every day and every meal of the day, 
even if the fish could be caught and the birds 
killed. 

He had heard of the Everglades as a won- 
drous, secret place where only Indians lived. 
He knew that Indians worked little and yet 
managed to survive. It was just such a life 
as appealed to him; besides he feared that a 
reprimand, if not a punishment, awaited him 
on his return. 

“When can I go with you?” he asked of the 
Indian. 

“Go now, right now.” 

Again the boy looked across the water 
where the Reeds were working. 

“What ’ll I do with this canoe?"' he asked. 

“Mr. Reed has another one, he can come 
and get it.” 

“Suppose they catch me.” 

“No catch an Indian.” 

“But my clothes?” 

“I’ll make Indian clothes.” 

Again the boy looked across the bay and 


21 


Meeting Little Deer 

saw the Reeds at work. They had been kind 
to him. If his labor was hard, Mr. Reed 
always set him the example; his own parents 
could not have been kinder. Then the little 
girls had become so kind and lovable that 
they were like sisters to him. At the Brook- 
lyn Orphan Asylum one thing had been re- 
peated to the boys over and over again. They 
should not run away from the family that 
adopted them! 

“Come for a short ride,” said the Indian 
who noticed that there was a struggle in the 
boy’s mind. 

“Will you bring me back again?” 

“I will, just as soon as you wish.” 

“Honest Injun?” 

“Honest Injun! ejaculated the Seminole. 
“Honest Injun,” he laughed, for he recog- 
nized this expression common to small boys. 
“Yes,” he continued, “I am an honest Indian. 
Seminoles always keep their word. Jump in 
and see how you like my canoe!” 

As Phil Reed stepped from his clumsy, 
flat-bottom boat into the canoe, he noticed 
that it was heavily laden and was propelled 


22 Meeting Little Deer 

by a motor. Not once did he distrust or fear 
the Indian. 

“We are off,” said the Seminole as he 
started his motor. 

The small and large islands through which 
the canoe glided lay on the southwestern coast 
of Florida, and were a part of that group 
known as the Ten Thousand Islands! Some 
of them were large and wooded, but the 
greater number were simply sand banks or 
coral reef covered daily by the rising tides. 
They formed an enchanting scene as the 
graceful canoe glided among them. 

After an hour’s ride the Indian brought 
his canoe ashore beneath a great palmetto tree 
that reached far out over the water. “We’ll 
have a lunch,” said he. From the boat he took 
an oil lamp, filled a little pot with water from 
a rubber bag and set it to boil. “We’ll have 
some tea, and while the water is boiling I’ll 
tell you who I am.” 

Seated upon the ground with his hands 
grasping his knees, with scarcely a movement 
of his body, and with his eyes fixed upon the 
outer branches of the palmetto trees, the 
Seminole told his story. 


23 


Meeting Little Deer 

“Don’t be surprised,” he began, “that I 
speak English so well, for I’m a graduate of 
the Carlyle Indian College. But first I fin- 
ished high school in Oklahoma. I played 
football with the best team that Carlile ever 
had, played quarter-back; but perhaps you do 
not know what that means. I was called 
Little Deer, for I was such a good runner. But 
I was a good speaker too and won the first 
place for English. Many of the Indians 
speak English with a perfect accent. Well, 
I am a son of a Seminole Chief. You may 
have heard that only a few of the Seminoles 
remained in the Everglades; the others were 
moved west by the government because they 
refused to submit to certain regulations. My 
great grandfather was among those who 
went. From my people I inherited a rather 
large fortune. I have always been anxious 
to see the place where my people lived for 
centuries, and from which they were driven. 
I have talked with my people; I have read 
books on the subject, and have two books 
with me. At last I made up my mind to 
spend some months in the Everglades. An- 


24 Meeting Little Deer 

other Indian was coming with me, I gave 
him money to buy a gun, but he spent it for 
whiskey and got drunk. I was disgusted and 
went without him. Bi.j I want a companion.” 

The slow deliberate words of the Indian 
were disturbed by the sizzling teapot. Using 
a small strainer the Seminole put some tea 
into the boiling water. “It will be ready in 
a moment,” he explained, “and now,” he 
asked, turning to the boy, “will you be my 
companion?” 

Again there was a struggle in the boy’s 
mind. For the first time he seemed to realize 
how good the Reeds had been to him. Thus 
far he had taken everything as his due; now 
it dawned upon him that he had in no way 
repaid them for their kindness. He was a 
member of the family, he would be treated as 
the son of Mr. Thomas Reed; he would in- 
herit the name and the fortune. On the other 
hand he had been charmed by the Indian’s 
manner and speech. He trusted the Seminole. 
There was the canoe ready, with ample pro- 
visions, and the lure of the wild life in the 
Everglades. 


Meeting Little Deer 25 

“Let us go back,” said he, “and watch Mr. 
Reed take the flat-bottom boat.” 

“Certainly,” said the obliging Indian, “and 
while I want you to be my companion I do 
not wish to force you. I will take you back 
to the pelican island; and when you are there 
you may make your choice.” 

Over the winding water course the motor 
boat cut its way. Neither the Seminole nor 
Phil Reed spoke. “See,” suddenly whispered 
the Indian turning the canoe ashore, “there 
he is.” 

“Where?” asked the boy who had lost all 
idea of place and distance in this tortuous 
course. 

“See, right through those two clusters of 
mangrove.” 

“I see. He has two boats. He is rowing 
one and pulling the other after him. He 
knows that I am gone.” 

“Yes,” acknowledged the Indian, “it is too 
late to go after him. He will be very angry.” 

“He may think that I am drowned,” the 
boy said. 

“No danger. He saw my canoe; he couldn’t 


26 Meeting Little Leer 

help seeing it. He knows that you went away 
with some one; but he won’t know it was an 
Indian, for he couldn’t distinguish an Indian 
from a white man at that distance.” 

“I am afraid to go back now,” acknowl- 
edged the boy, “besides,” he asked, “we won’t 
be gone long, will we?” 

“Only a few weeks.” 

“Then, where will I go”? 

“I will take you back to the Reeds, and if 
they won’t help you, I will get a place for 
you to work. You are a strong boy and can 
get along without any help.” 

This remark pleased the boy. For the first 
time in his life he felt that strength and inde- 
pendence which come with freedom. Yes, he 
could make his way. “I will go with you,” he 
said, although his voice grew faint as he 
uttered the words; the words which turned 
him adrift upon the water, adrift in the 
world, adrift from the moorings of his child- 
hood, adrift from the protection of his 
adopted home. 


CHAPTER III 


THE REEDS 

N o man on the police force of Brooklyn was 
more popular than Thomas Reed. Big 
Tom, they called him, and big he was. He 
stood six feet two in his stockings. With 
great shoulders and massive head, he was a 
perfect model of strength and energy as all 
day long he directed the traffic at the foot of 
River Street near the wharf. No driver ever 
disobeyed his orders. Whether it was truck 
or automobile it seemed as if the traffic police- 
man could, if it moved forward before the 
signal was given, pick up the machine and 
put it back in its place in the line. 

Big Tom Reed had something of the poet 
in his nature. He could quote whole pages 
of Tom Moore, and was fond of Longfellow 
and of Father Ryan. It was Father Ryan’s 
27 


28 


The Reeds 

poems that first turned his thoughts towards 
the South. Then he read Poe and Sidney 
Lanier. 

One day when coming home in a street 
car, Tom Reed picked up an advertisement of 
a Land Company in Florida. It was printed 
on tinted paper. The man that got out that 
advertisement was a master at his business. 
Most of the pages were filled with beautiful 
descriptions and poetic selections; and only 
in an occasional paragraph did the writer 
condescend to touch upon the grosser things 
of life — the four crops each year, and the 
wonderous citrus groves, rich with golden 
fruit. There were selections, too, from each 
of Tom Reed’s favorite poets. 

The traffic policeman yearned for the 
peaceful and fruitful lands of Florida. Night 
and day at home and on the street he talked 
of Florida. It was the most promising state 
in the country; it was the land of enchant- 
ment; the land of wonderful opportunities. 

Mrs. Reed was a worthy companion of the 
big Brooklyn policeman. In any other house- 
hold she would have been the master. At the 


The Reeds 


29 


end of a see-saw she could exactly balance the 
plank with the policeman on the other side. 
Her large, oval features bore a remarkable 
resemblance to those of her husband. People 
often called them the twins. While she made 
no pretence at being the master of the house 
she did glory in the fact that to her was com- 
mitted the purse. Regularly for twelve years 
the traffic policeman had handed her the 
check from the city hall. So much had the 
wife saved that she kept a double bank ac- 
count with the intention of some day surpris- 
ing her husband. She claimed that she was 
saving for a rainy day, but so far no rainy 
day had come into the lives of the Reeds. 

And now the sunshine of life, which ever 
had been bright, began to glow with tropical 
splendor; for the worthy spouse had caught 
the enthusiasm of her husband. How glorious 
it would be to get away from the flat life of 
Brooklyn, and to own a real home and a real 
farm of their own! 

“If I only had another thousand !” said the 
husband one evening. “I have been talking 
it all over with Father Devlin.” 


30 


The Reeds 


“How much do you think we have?” said 
the wife, for now was coming the triumph of 
her life, the hour for which she had toiled and 
saved and waited. 

“You told me that you had about two thou- 
sand.” 

“Yes, in one bank.” 

“What do you mean, dear?” 

“I mean what I said — in one bank.” 

“And why did you use two banks?” 

“I was afraid to keep it all in one bank.” 

“How much is it?” 

“Guess, dear.” 

“If it is a thousand I’ll jump over this 
table with joy.” 

“And if it is only a few hundred?” 

“Anything that will take us near the extra 
thousand will be welcome.” 

“And you cannot guess the amount?” 

“Of course not, dear, you have had the 
bank books so long that I really had not 
given any thought to the amount which we 
have saved.” 

The children looked at each other and at 
their parents with surprise, for mamma and 


The Reeds 31 

papa were acting just like little children. 
What did it mean? 

“But you must guess/’ insisted the wife. 

“Two hundred; if it’s two hundred I’ll turn 
a somersault.” 

“Guess again.” 

“Five hundred.” 

“More than that.” 

Mr. Reed leaped to his feet, kissed his wife 
and all the children. “Say, you’re the great- 
est wife in the world. But what bank is it 
and let me see the bank account.” 

Proudly Mrs. Reed arose and brought from 
a dresser a small bank book, and without a 
word handed it to her husband. Then the 
wife and the husband fell to kissing and hug- 
ging, until the children wondered and won- 
dered what had happened to mother and 
father. 

In the second bank book the Reeds had 
fifteen hundred dollars. 

It must be explained that Father Devlin, 
to whom Mr. Reed had been speaking, was 
Secretary of the Catholic Settlement Society. 
The object of this association was to get the 


32 


The Reeds 


Catholic people to leave the large cities and 
settle in communities in the country. One of 
the aims of the society was to influence a 
sufficient number to buy land in the same 
locality so that they might build a church and 
erect a school. 

Father Devlin was anxious for Mr. Thomas 
Reed to be the pioneer in the Florida adven- 
ture. The big policeman was flattered by 
the offer; accordingly he now bought fifty 
acres on the southwest coast of Florida just 
north of the Ten Thousand Islands. A large 
part of the land was covered with pine trees, 
the turpentine from which was guaranteed to 
bring the price of the real-estate. 

Mr. Reed resigned his position on the 
police force and went south where under his 
direction a neat cottage was constructed. 
True it was not a substantial building, but 
was well-suited to the climate; for in its plan- 
ning he had followed the advice of those who 
had long been residents of the state. When 
the home was about completed the rest of the 
family arrived. Then followed busy days for 
the parents and glorious days for children. 


The Reeds 


33 


No longer did they have to play in the dirty 
streets, but out in God’s own sunshine along 
the water’s edge and in the clean white sand. 

More than a year passed, and the former 
policeman had succeeded with his marketing 
far beyond his greatest hopes. There seemed 
to be but one difficulty, that of securing labor. 
Mrs. Reed had done almost a man’s work for 
the first twelve months, but her husband was 
determined that other arrangements should 
be made. 

“I have the solution,” he said to her one 
night as they walked in from the potato field, 
“we’ll get an orphan boy from Brooklyn.” 

“What made you think of such a thing just 
now?” 

“You have been tired to-day, my dear, and 
it has worried me.” 

“I have felt tired,” acknowledged the wife, 
“but I did not think that you would notice it.” 

“Anyone would feel it; this summer heat 
has taught the natives to sleep during the heat 
of the day, and work early in the morning 
and late in the evening. We have been living 
and working as if we were in Brooklyn,” 
were the words of the husband. 


34 


The Reeds 


“Then let us try the other order, and per- 
haps we can get along without any help,” 
said the wife. 

“No, we’ll need the help. We have only 
one little son of our own, and would it not 
be a good thing to adopt another? You re- 
member that our pastor spoke on that sub- 
ject the last day we attended church in 
Brooklyn.” 

“But orphan boys are a great responsi- 
bility.” 

“Not as difficult to handle here as in the 
city,” replied the man. 

For some days the matter was discussed, 
until finally a letter went to the Catholic 
Orphan Asylum, in Brooklyn, with the offer 
from the Reeds to adopt a boy about fourteen 
years of age. A short and satisfactory cor- 
respondence followed, papers were signed and 
a nameless lad left the asylum for his new 
southern home. Yes, nameless, for it had been 
agreed that the Reeds were not to inquire 
into the history of the child, although they 
were given proofs that he was of good 
parentage; and they were to adopt him le- 


The Reeds 


35 


gaily into the family, and no parent or rela- 
tive was to have any right over him or to 
know where he had been sent. 

In the meanwhile a letter came to Mr. Reed 
from the Superior of the asylum. It con- 
tained a transcript of some notes of the 
directress, whose duty it was to study the 
characteristics of each of the children in the 
institution : 

“Phil . No. 137. Good Qualities: 

a good heart, love of action, restless activity, 
remarkable piety, talent for drawing and 
especially for practical work, should follow a 
trade. Bad Qualities : that very restless ac- 
tivity, not a strong sense of duty, consider- 
able selfishness — a selfishness which, if un- 
restrained by obedience, can lead to much 
misery to self and others.” 

“Direct to Mr. Thomas Reed, Lee Wharf, 
Fla.” These were the words marked with 
heavy black ink and sewed on the lapel of the 
boy’s coat — the nameless boy whom Mr. Reed 
met one morning at the boat landing. He said 
his name was Phil; and Phil Reed he was in 
future to be called. 


36 


The Reeds 


Young Phil Reed was red-headed, very 
red-headed, almost fiery red-headed. His 
face, too, was slightly flushed and freckled; 
his nose and chin full and round. He had 
just reached his fifteenth birthday, but was 
rather small for his age; in fact, at first 
glance, one would have taken him for a boy 
of twelve. In his new suit, furnished by the 
asylum, he presented no mean appearance; 
and his bashful little sisters were rather proud 
of their new brother. 

“He’s got straw-berry hair,” whispered 
Isabel aged eight. 

“He’ll set the house on fire with his head,” 
affirmed Mary, the eldest of the girls. 

“I jes ’lub ’im,” said little Marcella. 

Benjamin held tight to his hand, conscious 
of the fact that he now had a big brother and 
would not have to play alone. 

Mrs. Reed folded him to her breast, and 
kissed and caressed him, calling him her own 
dear boy. 

Although disappointed when he learned 
that he was the only big boy in the family, 
and in fact in the neighborhood, he made 


The Reeds 


37 


friends with all at once; and then, uninvited, 
he went out to investigate the strawberry 
patch which he had spied when coming to the 
house. Who could find fault with him for 
wishing to eat big, red strawberries in late 
December? His new sisters and mother came 
with him, and handed him so many and such 
fine large berries that for once in his life he 
ate all he wished. Then there were birds and 
trees, and a whole world of things that were 
new to the little stranger. 

Weeks went by and the novelty of southern 
life wore off. Only once a month when the 
family went twenty miles to church did Phil 
Reed see and talk with other boys. 

Summer came, and it was warm in the 
fields. In fact, the hot climate and monoto- 
nous life began to be very disagreeable to 
Phil Reed. His foster parents did all in their 
power to make him interested in their home 
and its work; but they could not help but see 
that their adopted son was getting more and 
more dissatisfied with his surroundings. 

Phil Reed, too, was being seized by a cer- 
tain restless spirit of travel and adventure. 


38 


The Reeds 


The one long trip from Brooklyn gave him 
some idea of the size of the world. In front 
of him was the boundless stretch of water of 
the Gulf of Mexico. It was joined to the 
ocean, so he was told, and the ocean went all 
the way around the world; so he thought, so 
he dreamed. Perhaps the boyish fancy would 
have been forgotten; perhaps the lad would 
have grown accustomed to the home where 
he wanted for nothing. However, the temp- 
tation to follow the Seminole Indian came, 
and was too strong. In some vague way the 
Everglades would be the door to see the vast 
world. Into the Everglades he went. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE WAY TO THE EVERGLADES 

C lick., click, click, went the motor 
and the prow of the canoe was turned 
towards the winding currents of Ten Thou- 
sand Islands. 

“Where are the Everglades, Mr. Indian?” 
asked Phil, when the canoe was fairly under 
way. 

“Don’t call me Mr.; call me — well, let me 
see, call me Little Deer. We have to go 
about ten miles through these islands to the 
mouth of the Harvy River. It will then take 
a day’s run up the river to the Everglades.” 

“Will you teach me to fish and shoot a gun, 
Mr. Deer — Mr. Little — Mr. — Deer Little?” 
stammered the boy. Then both laughed. “I 
don’t like that name,” protested the boy, “I’ll 
call you Mr. Indian.” 


39 


40 The Way to the Everglades 

“You are rather polite, at any rate,” said 
the red man. “And I notice you speak Eng- 
lish well. Most boys would have said: will 
you learn me to shoot and many would have 
said lam me to shoot. Who taught you?” 

“Sister Valentine taught me the first year, 
then Sister Mary Paul, and Sister Mary 
Catherine after that.” 

“So you had three sisters.” 

Phil Reed pardoned the ignorance of the 
man because he was an Indian. “They weren’t 
my sisters; they were — they — were just 
Sisters, who taught in the Orphan Asylum. 
Sister Valentine didn’t know English very 
well, for she was French. She came from 
one of the countries which the French are 
fighting to get back from Germany. Let me 
see — it’s A1 — something.” 

“Alsace.” 

“That’s it. She has gone back there to nurse 
the wounded. Well, she said one day that I’d 
be an Edison.” 

“How’s that?” 

“Why, one of the orphan’s had an engine 
full of springs, but it wouldn’t work; and an- 


41 


The Way to the Everglades 

other boy had a boat which he used to sail in 
the fountain; and I took all the springs out 
of the engine and fixed them on the boat and 
made it run; and Sister Valentine said I’d be 
making submarines some day, and that I’d be 
an Edison.” 

“That’s good; you may need your talent 
before we are out of the Everglades.” 

“But one of the other Sisters said some- 
thing else about me.” 

“Something good I am sure.” 

“Not very good! She said that I was selfish 
and that I didn’t thank people for all they 
did for me.” Phil hung his head in shame 
for he now realized for the first time that he 
was proving himself ungrateful to the Reeds 
who had been so good to him. 

“Don’t mind it now,” remarked the Indian 
who noticed the change in the boy’s manner; 
“after a short time you can go to the Reeds 
and thank them for what they have done. 
But you talk about the Sisters; were they 
Catholic Sisters?” 

“Yes, Mr. Indian.” 

“And you are a Catholic?” 


42 The Way to the Everglades 

“Of course!” was the quick reply. “Irish 
Catholic — red-headed and freckled-faced, see,” 
and Phil Reed removed his torn hat. 

“There is no doubt about the red-headed 
part. How long were you at the asylum?” 

“Let me s-e-e-,” and the Indian was amused 
at the deliberate manner of his companion. 
“Let me s-e-e-, it was six years. Last year I 
got the prize for correct English. If any boy 
said he done or he seen it, the other boy put 
a tag on him; and he had to watch and to 
catch some other boy who made a mistake. 
I didn’t get the tag all the year and Sr. Mary 
Catherine gave me the nicest prayer-book 
with gold edges. I wish I had it now.” 

“You won’t need it in the Everglades.” 

“Yes, I will, Mr. Indian; yes, I will, I must 
say my prayers in the Everglades.” 

“What’s the use? There is no God in the 
Everglades.” 

“Yes there is, Mr. Indian, God is every- 
where. He is in the water and on the islands 
and the trees and everywhere.” 

“Why doesn’t He drown if He’s in the 
water?” 


43 


The Way to the Everglades 

“God is a spirit, Mr. Indian, and spirits 
can go through fire and water and everything, 
and nothing can hurt them.” 

“You are a bright boy to know all about 
God — or the great Spirit, as we Indians call 
Him. So you think that God is everywhere ?* 

“Yes, Mr. Indian.” 

“Does He see everything?” 

“Yes, Mr. Indian.” 

“Did He see you running away from 
home?” 

“Y-e-s, Mr. Indian, but it was your fault. 
You were accessary, and you are to blame 
just as much as I was.” 

“Good! By the great spirits, where did 
you get that big word?” 

“In the catechism. There are seven ways 
of being accessary to another’s sins.” 

“I’ve found a walking dictionary. If I 
had known that my companion was to be so 
wise, I’d have left my books at home. So I 
am accessary, and half the fault is with me? 
Well, it wasn’t a big fault,” explained the 
Indian who saw that his remark had made his 
young companion rather serious. “It wasn’t 


44 The Way to the Everglades 

a big fault. You see you didn’t run away 
from home. You haven’t any home. You are 
an orphan boy; I will take just as good care 
of you as did the Reeds. But don’t let us 
talk about the Reeds any more. Let us turn 
our thoughts to the life before us. Is that 
agreed?” 

“Is what agreed, Mr. Indian?” 

“That we don’t talk about the Reeds, and 
your running away from the Reeds. We’ll 
forget them for the present. We’ll talk about 
birds and shooting. So you want to know 
how to shoot?” 

“Yes, Mr. Indian.” 

“I’ll give you your first lesson to-night 
with my rifle; but we haven’t any cartridges 
to waste. How would it do to wait until we 
see ducks and other birds which we can eat. 
If you kill one, we will be that much better 
off, and you will have the practice at the same 
time. I have it; you can kill a pelican. You 
can’t miss them. White people don’t like 
them for eating; but white people don’t know 
what is good. A fat pelican is just as good 
as a fat chicken.” 


The Way to the Everglades 45 

“I can kill one of them with a stick or 
stone,” remarked the boy as he pointed 
towards an island where a dozen were wading 
in the shallow water. 

‘‘You think you can. You could never get 
near one with a stick, and as for a stone, there 
are no stones in this part of the country. 
Even if you had one, you would require a 
sling and the skill of David to kill a pelican 
with a stone. Do you know what David 
did?” the Indian asked. 

“Yes, Mr. Indian, he killed the giant 
Goliath.” 

“Right; and you see I know something 
about the Bible. We have improved since 
David’s time. Come, this is a good time to 
take a lesson in shooting.” 

The Seminole brought the motor boat to an 
island. “Slip off your shoes,” he said in a 
low voice. “I am going to put two shells into 
the sporting gun, for I’m afraid that you 
couldn’t do anything with a rifle the first time. 
Get about twenty feet from the birds, and 
pick out one with its side or back towards 
you, for the breast feathers sometimes turn the 


46 The Way to the Everglades 

shot. If you miss the first time then try one 
on the wing ; for with their big wings stretched 
out they make a fine mark. Don’t be afraid; 
this gun doesn’t kick. Now watch, you may 
as well learn how to use this automatic gun. 
When you fire a shot the gun loads itself and 
is ready for a second shot. You see this 
little catch under the gun and next to the 
trigger, it is called the safety. When you 
get ready to fire simply shove the safety for- 
ward with your thumb.” 

“Like that?” said the boy pressing the 
safety as directed. 

“Exactly — you have it, now creep along 
slowly.” * 

Proud as the oldest huntsman was Phil 
Reed as, with gun in hand, he waded through 
the shallow water. Over his head pelicans 
were flying — flying, no doubt, back to the 
island from which the boy had frightened 
them, while those on the little sand bank be- 
fore him seemed in no way to notice his ap- 
proach. 

“Stop,” he heard the Indian call from the 
canoe. 


47 


The Way to the Everglades 

Up went the gun to the boy’s shoulder. It 
was aimed and the trigger was pulled. Some- 
thing was wrong. Yes, he had forgotten the 
safety; it was pressed forward and again Phil 
aimed the gun towards a big bird. Bang it 
went! There was a great flutter of wings. 
The boy fired a second shot. Then he looked 
and saw three monster birds lying before him. 
In his excitement he had not been aware that 
his first shot went true. The second shell had 
been equally fatal, while the Seminole had 
taken no risk and had killed a third with his 
rifle. 

From that day Phil Reed felt that he was a 
great hunter. It took three trips to drag 
the prizes to the canoe. As the weather was 
cool and the meat would keep there was a 
supply for a full week. 

The smaller islands of parching sand were 
now giving place to larger ones clothed with 
tropical growth. Aged palmetto trees stood 
sombre in the haze of November; the feathery 
fronds had dropped from the more aged trees 
leaving the trunks as smooth and bare as 
those of the pines, while up the brown limbs 


48 The Way to the Everglades 

of others the jasmine vine had twined, and 
with its yellow trumpets threw perfume to the 
breezes. More sombre still were the live oaks, 
with funeral pendents of Spanish moss. But 
the dreary oaks were gladdened by the mistle- 
toe with its yellow-green leaves and its pearl- 
white berries. Mangrove clusters were on all 
sides. There were elder and sumac bushes and 
blue-berry, water oak scattering their leaves 
at the approach of winter, and maples with 
their foliage burning salmon-red. 

Among the numerous aquatic birds seen in 
and among the islands the great blue heron 
stood conspicuous. Unlike the pelican which 
shows to best advantage in its flight, the blue 
heron must be studied in repose or when wad- 
ing leisurely in shallow water. Standing fully 
six feet in height it is the prize bird of the 
American continent; during the early summer 
when it wears a drooping plume on the back 
of its head it shows to best advantage. Once 
it takes to flight all dignity vanishes. With 
its neck arched back between its wings, until 
the head is scarcely visible, and with a croak- 
ing note it sails away. 


49 


The Way to the Everglades 

As the motor boat ran among the numer- 
ous islands, and the occupants watched the 
trees and birds, night came on. It was dark 
when the mouth of the Harvy River was 
reached. 

“We’ll camp here,” said the Seminole, “and 
to-morrow night we’ll be within the Ever- 
glades.” 

“Haven’t you seen the Everglades, Mr. 
Indian?” 

“No, only heard of them and read about 
them.” 

On reaching shore a fire was lighted at 
once; and pleasant it was in the chill Novem- 
ber evening. Tea was made, and warmed 
canned-salmon was served with bread and 
peanut butter. 

“What is that you are doing?” asked the 
Seminole, as he observed the boy making the 
sign of the cross before the meal. 

“Saying my grace.” 

“Kind of prayer, I suppose.” 

“Yes,” replied the boy, pitying the poor 
Indian who did not know what grace was. 

“We say grace to thank God for giving us 
all good things to eat,” he explained. 


50 


The Way to the Everglades 

“But, I’m giving you all the things,” 
claimed the Indian. 

“You bought them,” said the lad from the 
orphanage, “but God made them. He is the 
maker of heaven and earth. He makes the 
trees grow, and you cut up a tree to make 
fire-wood.” 

This was new language for the Indian. The 
boy was so positive in his statement that his 
words made a deep impression on his elder 
companion. 

When supper was over the Seminole lit his 
pipe and offered a smoke to his companion. 

“No,” said the lad, “I can’t smoke till I am 
twenty-one.” 

“How is that?” 

“We made the promise on our First Com- 
munion day.” 

Here was some other religious devotion, 
thought the Indian; but he did not ask for an 
explanation; nor did he make any further 
remark when later the lad knelt down and 
with his hands clasped before his breast said 
night prayers. 

The voyagers were up at day-light and soon 


51 


The Way to the Everglades 

began the ascent of the Harvy River. The 
sluggish stream became narrow and swift as 
the day went by. At times the current was 
so choked with blue hyacinth and pickerel- 
weed that it was difficult to follow the wind- 
ing passage. It was late in the afternoon 
when the party reached a long line of cypress- 
trees, the margin of the Everglades. 

That night the Seminole removed the motor 
from the canoe. It was wrapped in several 
layers of oil cloth and with the entire gasoline 
supply buried in a high place at the foot of a 
large pine tree, some distance from the river. 

The Seminole had brought with him a long 
pole made in three sections, which were fitted 
together and put at the side of the canoe. 
All was now in readiness. 

At day break on the following morning the 
Indian pushed the canoe out into the murky 
waters of the cypress-swamp. Slowly it went 
until the edge of the swamp was reached. 
Then the trees were passed, and Phil Reed 
and the Seminole Indian were in the Ever- 
glades. Phil Reed was a prisoner. 


CHAPTER V 


INTO THE EVERGLADES 

O nly those who have seen the Ever- 
glades can form any idea of this world 
of mystery. Most people picture the Ever- 
glades as a great swamp, either covered with 
dense tropical growth or studded with cypress- 
trees, so thick that the sunlight can but 
faintly penetrate into the black waters where 
big snakes squirm and alligators splash and 
flounder. But in truth, the Everglades is not 
stagnant swamp; its waters are so pure the 
year round that the thirsty explorer can scoop 
up a cupful at the side of his canoe and drink 
it. Along the edges, forests of pine, cypress 
and palmetto abound. Within there are 
islands called hammocks, on the smallest and 
by far the most numerous of which grow 
mangrove bushes so thick that they can be 
52 


53 


Into the Everglades 

penetrated only with difficulty; while on the 
few larger hammocks can be seen clusters of 
small pine and cypress-trees, with an occa- 
sional palmetto. Here too, depending on the 
dampness of the soil, thrive many of the 
vines and trees common in the central part 
of the country. 

The peculiar difficulty of traversing the 
Everglades comes from the fact that the 
region is neither entirely land nor water. Ex- 
plorers scale the Alps or the Rocky Moun- 
tains, and traverse the parching plains of the 
Sahara Desert; but these conditions of moun- 
tain or desert do not exist in the Everglades. 
While the water that covers the entire area 
makes it impossible to use anything but a 
boat or a canoe, still there is scarcely enough 
water in places to float the smallest craft. 
The principal obstacle comes from a tall, 
bunchy growth called saw-grass ; and well 
does it deserve its name, for its triangular 
blades cut deep into the flesh, and even a 
glove of the toughest leather will gradually 
yield to its attacks. It grows, too, to the 
height of eight feet, and so thick in places 


54 Into the Everglades 

that it is a sheer impossibility to pass through 
it with any canoe that can be used for navi- 
gation. 

Although the Everglades stretch north 
from southern Florida for a hundred miles 
and are in places seventy-five miles wide, still 
if one sees but a small section of them he has 
a good idea of the whole formation. In some 
places where the water is too deep for the 
saw-grass to grow, the Everglades appear 
like a lake, and again where the grass is 
thick, they have the appearance of waving 
meadows. The monotony is broken by the 
hammocks. Strange as it may seem, deer and 
wild-cats find their way across the Everglades, 
the former subsisting on the coarse grass and 
twigs at the edge of the hammocks, and the 
latter eating foxes, raccoons, and other small 
animals. 

When one passes within the Great Cypress 
Swamp of southern Florida he is conscious 
of the weird, uncanny darksomeness. The 
transition from light to semi-darkness is so 
sudden that it seems as if a great door has 
shut out the light of heaven. The cypress- 


55 


Into the Everglades 

boles stand so thick that progress is slow, 
everything around is reeking with decay, the 
water seems black, the ground beneath oozy 
and unsafe, and sluggish serpents creep and 
hideous alligators crawl. But out in the 
Everglades the first feeling is one of light 
and warmth, sunshine and freedom. It is 
only when one is deep in the interior without 
compass or food, that the terrible reality of 
helplessness and isolation is forced upon the 
thoughtless explorer who has ventured into 
this unknown world. 

However, on that bright November morn- 
ing, when the frail canoe of the Seminole 
pushed out into the Everglades, happy were 
the hearts of PJiil Reed and Little Deer. The 
boy sat in the middle of the canoe while the 
Indian standing on the back seat poled his 
craft slowly along. 

“What a beautiful bird!” cried the boy en- 
chanted by a vision before him. 

“That’s the egret,” explained the Indian, as 
he let his pole lag at the end of the canoe. 

“It looks like a woman’s hat,” claimed the 
boy. 


56 Into the Everglades 

“It may be one, some day,” was the reply. 
“So many of these birds were being killed for 
hat-feathers, that the United States Govern- 
ment passed a law forbidding their destruc- 
tion.” 

“What would they do to you if you shot 
one?” 

“Nothing, unless you brought the skin and 
feathers to some city, and tried to sell them.” 

“I won’t kill any; they look so beautiful,” 
said the boy. “They remind me of big but- 
terflies. And I see some butterflies,” he con- 
tinued, “big red and green and yellow and 
rainbow butterflies. What do they live on 
out here in the water? Ouch — ” and in an 
instant the boy’s left hand was covered with 
blood. 

“The saw-grass,” cried the Indian, drop- 
ping the pole and reaching for a box. “I 
should have told you,” he said; “it cuts like a 
knife. You see I put on heavy gloves. But 
it isn’t dangerous,” he continued, as he began 
to bandage the wound. 

“Did you bring that cotton with you?” 
asked the boy. 


57 


Into the Everglades 

“Of course, I brought everything that the 
books called for. One man who went through 
the Everglades years ago, wrote down in his 
note book that a good supply of bandaging 
should be brought, for even with the best of 
care one would cut his hands with saw-grass. 
I am surprised that I did not warn you. But 
here are the gloves,” he continued, reaching 
into another box. “They are just a trifle 
large, but they will protect your hands. That 
was a rather good bandage I made, even if I 
must say it,” he remarked as he re-examined 
the wound and handed the boy the gloves. 

“There is our first hammock,” said the In- 
dian as the canoe came close to a clump of 
bushes, some twelve feet in height, with small, 
waxy leaves and leathery berries. 

“Will we sleep in a place like that?” asked 
the boy. 

“I hope not. If you look close, you will 
see that the water is all in through the bushes. 
We must never sleep among mangrove 
clumps ; they are full of rattlesnakes and moc- 
casins. We will have to sleep in the canoe 
unless we find a dry hammock.” 


58 Into the Everglades 

“Jiminy crickets! look there!” cried the boy. 
Right above them with its big eyes glaring in 
the sunlight and its forked tongue vibrating 
rapidly was a moccasin six feet long. 

“Get away, old fellow,” shouted the Semi- 
nole, hitting at the snake with his pole. 
“Stories say that you never bite an Indian; 
but I don’t care about taking a risk. You 
have a quick eye,” he said to the boy. “I was 
right under the thing and didn’t see it. You 
see, I have lost all the ways and tricks of my 
Seminole ancestors.” 

The moccasin sank beneath the water, and 
the canoe went on. 

Although the Everglades cannot be called 
a favorite resort for birds, owing to the ab- 
sence of berries and other food stuffs, still 
whole flocks tarry for a few days in the 
passage north and south. Phil was surprised 
to see field-larks sailing over the water and 
resting on the stout saw-grass. Snipes and 
coots and red-winged black-birds were numer- 
ous. Ducks, too, swam so close to the canoe 
that they made an easy mark; but the Indian 
did not wish to waste a shell upon them so 


59 


Into the Everglades 

long as he had the pelicans for meals. Water 
moccasins were everywhere, sometimes drop- 
ping from the mangrove bushes, sometimes 
swimming quite close to the edge of the canoe. 

“ There’s a hammock, where we can camp 
to-night,” said the Indian, pointing to a pine 
tree which had come into view about noon. 
“The land is high and will make a good place 
for camping.” 

“Can’t we get there for dinner?” asked the 
boy. 

“How far do you think it is?” asked the 
Seminole. 

“Oh, about a mile.” 

“I would say five or six miles.” 

“Then we’ll have to eat our dinner in the 
canoe,” remarked the boy. 

“Precisely. That’s the reason I brought 
the oil stove. The books say that one can 
live on cold meals if one had only a cup of 
warm tea. But,” he added encouragingly, 
“as soon as we get fairly started we’ll always 
arrange to be on a dry hammock at meal time. 
For the first few days we want to get as far 
as possible into the Everglades; after that we 
won’t care so much about the speed.” 


60 Into the Everglades 

“We seem to have plenty to eat,” said the 
boy, looking at the boxes and the big pot, full 
of pelican meat. 

“Yes, and we have a long journey before 
us, and a long winter before us.” 

“If I get tired, will you go back soon?” 

“Of course! just as soon as either of us 
wants to go, then we start. I simply want to 
see the land of my forefathers or rather the 
land and water of my forefathers. I under- 
stand there is a large lake to the north called 
Okeechobee. Some day, Phil, I may sail on 
this Indian lake, or at least on this lake with 
an Indian name. No doubt, it was called 
after my Seminole ancestors.” 

All hope of reaching the pine-tree before 
dinner time was soon abandoned The after- 
noon wore slowly away, and the canoe crept 
slowly through the saw-grass. 

“Say, Mr. Indian, that pine-tree island is 
going just as fast as we are,” remarked Phil, 
as he sat gazing out over the water and saw- 
grass. 

“I don’t think we’ll reach it to-day or even 
to-night,” was the reply. 


61 


Into the Everglades 

It was only towards dusk of the second 
day that the canoe touched the hammock. It 
proved far larger than it had first appeared, 
for there were several pines and some pal- 
metto trees on it. The voyagers leaped with 
joy to the solid ground and stretched their 
tired limbs. “This is fine,” said the Indian, 
“let us have a race.” With these words he 
ran across the sand like a boy just out from 
school. 

With a crackling noise several big birds 
flew from one of the palmetto trees. 

“That’s a new bird for me,” said the In- 
dian, as he stood looking at the slender forms. 
“Not herons, not curlews, but they belong to 
the snipe family.” 

“Not meadow-larks or black birds,” said the 
boy whose bird lore was limited. 

Several times that afternoon and evening 
the birds flew back to the island, only to be 
frightened away again by the human in- 
truders. 

Firewood was there in abundance. Crack- 
ers were warmed, potatoes were roasted, peli- 
can meat was broiled, and tea was brewed. 
What a delicious supper it was! 


62 


Into the Everglades 

Phil said his prayers that night with deep- 
est gratitude. Slowly the ambers burned low, 
while the Seminole smoked his pipe and the 
boy lay close to the fire. 

Soon they were wrapped in their blankets; 
and silence, the silence of ages, came over 
the Everglades. 


CHAPTER VI 

SOME WONDERS OF THE EVERGLADES 

I ndians, Indians,” cried Phil, leaping 
to his feet. 

No reply came from the sleeping Seminole. 
“Wake up! Indians are after us!” and 
Phil Reed all terrified shook his sleeping com- 
panion. 

“What’s that?” grunted the man. 

“Indians are coming — hundreds of ’em!” 
Still the tired Seminole only grunted some 
faint response. 

With a mighty effort the lad pulled the 
blanket from his sleeping companion. “In- 
dians! Indians!” he shouted again. 

“What is it?” gasped the man half awake. 
“Indians ! Indians !” 

“Will they kill me? Kill me here in my 
63 


64 Some Wonders of the Everglades 

own country !” muttered Little Deer, now 
fully awake. 

“We can’t run, Mr. Indian!” 

“No, keep quiet! Here take this gun,” and 
he handed the boy his rifle, while he himself 
took his revolver. “How could they follow 
us?” he asked in a whisper. 

“They are on all sides of the island,” 
stammered the boy. 

“Heavens! and in the trees! But they 
won’t kill a Seminole. I’ll go and find them. 
Stay here.” In his excitement the Seminole 
forgot that the island was only a few paces 
in size. 

“Can’t I go, Mr. Indian?” and young Phil 
Reed held on to his companion’s hand. 

Out of the darkness came sounds — cries — 
wails! Were they of earth? Were they hu- 
man? Was it the war cry of the Seminole? 
Was it the challenge of the spirits who 
guarded this mysterious realm? The sounds 
came from overhead, from the water, from 
every side of the island, from one of the tall 
pine-trees. 

Towards this tree, Little Deer crept. There 


Some Wonders of the Everglades 65 

was a flutter of wings. Then the Indian 
recognized the night cry of the limpkin. He 
recalled that several large birds had made 
efforts that afternoon to reach the trees, but 
had been affrighted by the presence of men. 

It is impossible to describe the hideous 
sounds that the limpkins can emit in the 
silence of night. It is strangely human. It 
is unlike the long croak of the frog, or the 
weird cry of the owl, or the bark of the 
jackal; it is ghostlike and ethereal. 

Holding his young companion by the hand 
the Indian crept back to the camp and ex- 
changed his rifle for the sporting gun, in- 
serted a shell with a large shot, and again 
sought the pine-tree. After a short search 
he saw two forms indistinct in the faint light. 
He fired and a bird dropped with a thud upon 
the ground, while the rest took to flight. 

There were other disturbing elements in the 
silence of the night; insects of every kind and 
frogs with tremulous voices; but these the voy- 
agers did not mind. Wrapping themselves in 
their blankets they were soon sleeping 
soundly. 


66 Some Wonders of the Everglades 

“I don’t blame you for getting scared,” 
said the Seminole to his companion on the 
following morning as they awoke and sat with 
their blankets around them. “I thought that 
every Indian in the Everglades had rushed to 
kill us for coming into this place. I now 
remember what voyagers have written about 
the limpkin, for when first heard it frightens 
everybody.” 

“Well, it nearly scared me to death,” 
laughed Phil. 

“I thought six thousand Seminoles were 
around; but now I remember that there are 
not three hundred in this part of the country.” 

“Will they come again to-night?” the boy 
wanted to know. 

“They may, but we’ll be gone. Just possible 
that we may be able to hear them ; but it is only 
when one is close that they make such a hide- 
ous noise. You see this is their roost; and all 
the nests of last year and many years are up 
in those palmetto trees.” 

“I am going to climb up there and look at 
the nests,” said the boy. 

“You may find it harder than you think to 


Some Wonders of the Everglades 67 

get hold of those old fronds in the palmettos,” 
explained the Indian. “But I’ll help you,” 
he added. 

Over to the trees they walked after break- 
fast, and the Seminole lifted the boy up to 
where he could catch the fronds or branches 
of the palmetto; then he stepped back to 
watch the lad’s progress. “Jump! Jump!” he 
cried. 

Without waiting for any further directions 
Phil Reed let loose both hands and tumbled 
to the ground. 

He was none too soon, for right above him 
a huge rattlesnake had thrust its head out 
from the fronds of the palmetto. 

The Indian dragged the boy from under 
the tree. The rattler seemed satisfied that it 
had driven the intruders away, and remained 
where it was with its hissing fangs, red and 
deadly, warning away any further attempt. 

“We’ll let the limpkins’ nests stay this 
time,” laughed the Indian. 

“Let’s shoot the snake,” urged the boy. 

“We can’t afford to waste the shell or bul- 
let,” was the reply. “If it was dangerous for 


68 Some Wonders of the Everglades 

others I’d kill it; but it may be years before 
others come to this island.” 

Leaving the rattlesnake to guard the roost- 
ing place of the limpkins, and the limpkins 
to disturb the solitudes, the voyagers were 
soon on their way. At noon they reached 
another hammock where the ground was dry. 

“Would you like to be an Indian?” asked 
the Seminole of his young companion after 
they had enjoyed their meal. 

“I am Irish,” said the boy. 

“Of course; but listen, suppose we met 
some Indians, it would be safer for you to 
look like a Seminole.” 

“But, I can’t look like a Seminole.” 

“Oh yes, I know the art. It has been a 
tradition with us for centuries. I can change 
you into an Indian in five minutes.” 

“Try it,” said the boy. 

The Indian was true to his word. In a 
few minutes he held a looking-glass before 
the boy. “Is this me?” asked the boy in aston- 
ishment. 

“Your first slip in grammar,” corrected the 
Indian. “What should you say?” 


Some Wonders of the Everglades 69 

“I don’t know, Mr. Indian.” 

“You should say: ‘is this I or is this my- 
self?’ ” 

“It doesn’t sound right,” said Phil. “Oh 
yes, I know the rule. The verb to he has the 
same case before as after it.” 

“Correct; but what about your being a little 
Indian?” 

“I’ve still got Irish hair,” claimed the boy. 

“I haven’t finished with you,” put in the 
Indian. 

“What would Mr. and Mrs. Reed and the 
children think if they saw me now?” remarked 
the lad. “I wish Sr. Mary Catherine could 
see me. I took part in a play once, and what 
do you think I was?” 

“A good little boy.” 

“No.” 

“A good little girl.” 

“No - - o; worse than that.” 

“Much worse?” 

“Yes; I was a little black devil.” 

“Horrible!” 

“And I had a tail!” 

“More horrible!” 


70 Some Wonders of the Everglades 

“And I went around getting little boys to 
disobey the Sister.” 

“Most horrible! but now look at your hair.” 

“No more Irish,” acknowledged the boy, 
“black hair — Indian hair.” 

“Now if we meet the Seminoles we can 
claim to be first cousins,” said Little Deer. 
“But you will have to stay this way until 
we leave the Everglades, for you cannot wash 
the paint off.” 

“Let me try,” replied the boy, running 
down to the water. True it was; the paint 
could not be washed off. “I don’t care,” said 
the boy. “I like to be an Indian. This is the 
country of the Indians and I want to be an 
Indian.” 

For seven days the two Indians poled their 
canoe through the waters of the Everglades; 
and yet they were less than twenty-five miles 
from the Big Cypress Swamp, the place of 
departure, although they had gone three times 
that distance, in several places crossing their 
own tracks. 

Almost at dark on the evening of the 
seventh day they reached a large island, and 


Some Wonders of the Everglades 71 

being tired had thrown themselves down to 
sleep after eating a cold lunch. When Phil 
awoke the bright sun was flooding the Ever- 
glades. 

“A fine place for camping/’ said the 
Seminole, who had been inspecting the island. 
“And see how deep the water is all along one 
side and no saw-grass. Why its a real lake. 
It must be great for fishing and duck hunt- 
ing*” 

“Will we stay here?” asked the boy. 

“I’ve been thinking it over. Certainly we 
couldn’t find a higher or drier island; perhaps 
it is one of the largest in the Everglades. 
But there is one serious objection to it as a 
camp. Look here and here,” he added, point- 
ing to two piles of ashes, “not only is this a 
regular stopping place for the Seminoles, but 
they come here often, and have been here 
recently. You can see too,” he continued, 
“from the trampled grass and flowers, and 
the amount of wood cut that rather large 
numbers have been here.” 

“Well, I’m an Indian now,” acknowledged 
the boy, “and so are you.” 


72 Some Wonders of the Everglades 

“Still, I prefer to be alone. There is no 
telling what they might do to us. That fine 
canoe and all the fire-arms and provisions 
would be rather tempting for a band of 
roaming Indians.” 

“I am tired of that canoe,” said the boy, 
yawning and stretching out his arms. “I 
would like to put up the tent and camp for 
a week.” 

“Just what I want,” replied the Indian; 
“only I’m looking around to find a suitable 
place. I see another hammock over there to 
the right. You can tell that it is high from 
the number of trees on it. The place may not 
be as large as this; but it is safer. Even if 
we conclude to pitch our tents there we can 
come to this island whenever we wish.” 

It was decided to investigate the other 
island at once. Only after several attempts 
was a “lead” found through the saw-grass; 
and although the hammock was only a short 
distance away darkness came on before the 
voyagers were able to land, 


CHAPTER VII 


THE ENCHANTED ISLAND 

I T was a wondrous morning, and, although 
in November, the island was a scene of en- 
chantment. During the week in the Ever- 
glades the voyagers had generally kept away 
from islands and hammocks, even sleeping at 
times in the open canoe. They had noticed 
a few butterflies, an occasional bird and 
scattered patches of flowers; but now their 
enchanted island seemed to have drawn to 
itself not only the birds and butterflies, but 
the very flowers. Along the margin of the 
water, bunches of pickerel-weed were lifting 
their banners of blue ; there were purple 
asters, and golden pond-lilies, and white stars 
of water plaintain, and the vivid yellow of 
jasmine. Virginia creepers interlaced their 


74 The Enchanted Island 

reddish vines with the branches of the swamp 
oaks, while the leaves of the sour-gum trees 
burned scarlet against the sky. And the 
butterflies, the November butterflies, the ten 
thousand butterflies, the silken-tinted butter- 
flies, that sailed over the waters and over the 
island and over the flowers! How they flitted 
from flower to flower in a wondrous maze of 
ever-changing colors! Bees, too, buzzed in 
such profusion around the trumpet blooms, 
that the delicate vine stems were tremulous 
and shook the richest perfume far out over 
the waters. 

Every bird in its flight southward seemed 
to have come to the island that bright No- 
vember morning. Mocking birds were there 
in numbers, with notes however that were 
not attuned; cardinals, too, from the far 
north, and though songless they stood out in 
beauty against the background of gray 
Spanish moss which hung like curtains from 
the oaks and pine-trees. There were finches 
and warblers and tufted titmouse and busy 
fly-catchers. Meadowlarks caroled from their 
perches of saw-grass, yellow-bellied swallows 


The Enchanted Island 


75 


sailed gracefully over the waters, and busy 
wood-peckers made the pine-trees rattle and 
sent the pine needles in showers to the 
ground. 

Such was the enchanting scene which 
greeted our two adventurers on that sunny 
November morning in the Everglades. 

“Our home at last,” said the Indian as with 
his young companion he surveyed the island. 
“Let us call it the Palmettoes/ J he continued 
pointing to a group of the trees. “The big 
island which we visited yesterday we’ll call 
the ‘Pines.’ ” 

“There may be rattlesnakes in the trees,” 
said Phil, remembering his experience when 
climbing for the limpkins’ nest. 

“You are an Indian now, and rattlesnakes 
don’t bite Indians.” 

“Is that so? I wouldn’t trust one.” 

“Nor would I. We’ll clear this island of 
all snakes before we settle down.” 

“Call it St. Patrick’s Island,” suggested 
Phil, “and then no snakes will stay on it.” 

“That might work for some snakes, boy, 
but not for rattlers and moccasins. You can 


76 The Enchanted Island 

say prayers to St. Patrick; but this Seminole 
intends to kill every snake in sight.” 

Only two small moccasins were found and 
quickly dispatched with a stick. Then a place 
was picked for the tent, where it would be 
concealed on two sides by mangrove bushes, 
and all but hid on the other sides by palmetto 
trees and vines. 

Although the island was less than a hun- 
dred feet in length and did not exceed forty 
in width, still owing to its high land in the 
center almost every tree known to the Ever- 
glades was found on it. There were a few 
maples and a single hickory tree. A deep 
and open stretch of water was along one side. 

For two days the work of clearing the 
ground and erecting the tent went on. Only 
as the various articles were unpacked and 
stored away did Phil realize the amount of 
luggage that had been brought in the canoe. 

“We have been working hard,” said the 
Seminole as he prepared breakfast on the 
third day. “Let us take a rest and go fish- 
ing.” 

“Have we any bait?” asked the lad. 

“Bait!” repeated the Indian. “I’m a scien- 


The Enchanted Island 77 

tific fisherman. Bait! just let me show you 
my fine casting flies. And there,” continued 
he, pointing out over the water, “that’s the 
longest stretch of water we have found, and 
it comes right up to the island. It is deep, 
too. It must be over ten feet, for there is 
scarcely a blade of saw-grass to be seen.” 

“Do you know how to cast?” asked the 
Seminole, as the two stepped into the canoe 
and rowed off towards a “lead” near a small 
hammock. 

“No, Mr. Indian.” 

“Casting means throwing your line out into 
the water, and doing it so skillfully that the 
fly drops right into the place where you 
think there’s a fish.” 

“Hey! Look — here,” cried Phil who was 
in front of the boat, “this fish jumped into 
the boat.” True it was, and a second and a 
third, each weighing about half a pound. 
They had the shape of a sunfish with black 
streaks behind its gills. 

“We won’t need any casting if fish are so 
polite as to leap into our canoe,” said the 
Indian. 


78 


The Enchanted Island 


“What makes them jump into the canoe?” 

“They just jump, and the canoe happens 
to be ready for them to fall into. It must 
be a variety of flying-fish. Although,” he 
continued, “it hasn’t the long fin of the 
flyer. Let us call it the ‘jumper.’ ” 

“I see lots of ’em,” exclaimed the boy 
pointing towards a bunch of saw-grass. 

“And I forgot my rifle,” were the im- 
patient words of the Seminole. “There goes a 
deer.” It had leaped out of the mangrove 
bushes of a small hammock and, splashing in 
the water, had frightened the fish. It soon 
disappeared in the heavy grass where, strange 
to say, it seemed to find a footing. Stranger 
still, that it should have remained all night 
so near the island unseen and unaff righted. 

“We’ll go through this lead,” directed the 
Indian, as the canoe was feeling its way 
through the saw-grass. The two fishermen 
were soon at the edge of a round hole that 
seemed ideal for their sport. 

“Put on your rubber gloves, grab a bunch 
of the grass and hold the canoe still, while I 
try my luck at casting,” directed the elder. 


The Enchanted Island 


79 


Even when wearing gloves the boy had 
learned to handle the saw-grass carefully. 
“It won't move much," he said, holding on 
firmly to his anchor. 

“What a hole for bass," whispered the 
fisherman as he made his first cast. The 
shining bait played on the surface, a tempting 
prize indeed for any game fish. 

He had worked the line but a few minutes 
when a bass leaped for the fly, and missing it, 
came far out into the air. Back it plunged 
only to turn and again dart for the brilliant 
fly. “Mine!" exclaimed Little Deer as he 
drew the prize into the canoe. In a few 
minutes he had three bass. 

“Now you try your luck," he said to the 
boy, “but steady as we exchange places." 

“I don't know how to cast," replied the lad. 

“It’s no trick here in the open, along trout 
streams with trees and bushes all around you 
it requires some skill, but here one has only 
to give the line a little jerk and in it goes." 

The boy took the line. “I feel one biting," 
he said after only a few minutes. 

“Wait until you feel it tugging." 


80 


The Enchanted Island 


“Its pulling hard!” 

“Out with it.” 

“The line won’t come — yes, it’s coming and 
some — thing — on — it,” muttered the boy. 
Evidently the fish had at first twisted the line 
around the roots of the saw-grass and had as 
suddenly released it. Phil wound in rapidly; 
his captive leaped and splashed, but was 
finally landed, a four pound bass. 

“Back mine go into the water,” said the 
Seminole. “Let them grow until they get as 
large as yours. No, I’ll keep one, and also 
the stupid fish which leaped into the canoe. 
The other two can stay until we come again,” 
with these words he threw two of the bass 
into the water. 

“How do you know that they will bite 
again?” asked the boy. 

“If they don’t others will. We have all 
that we can eat in the next two days. After 
this, we’ll always catch just enough for our 
needs. Remember that we are to stay here 
for some time and must save our supplies.” 


CHAPTER VIII 

A DISCOVERY AND A WAR SONG 

hic - -kee, chic - - kee. 

Wee --wee; 

Did - - lee, did - - lee, 

Tee - - tee.” 

As the Seminole sang these words in a 
weird, monotonous way he kept the index 
finger of his right hand on the ground and 
turned around and around. 

“Moo - - mu, moo - - mu, 

Loo-la 

Koon - - ti, koon - - ti, 

Foo - - fa.” 

The Indian picked up a book which he had 
been reading and put it on the top of his head, 
holding the covers with his hands and letting 
the leaves dangle loosely as he sang, 

“Koon - - ti, koon - - ti, 

81 


82 A Discovery and a War Song 

Koo - - kee, 

Koon - - ti, koon - - ti, 

Sof-kee.” 

And now the excited dancer dug into the 
ground as if looking for some treasure, and 
then raised his hands to his mouth as if he had 
found something to eat. 

When, all but exhausted, he turned to 
Phil and cried out: “Why don’t the audience 
clap?” But the boy did not appear to be in 
the least interested. At first he had concluded 
that Little Deer was going through some 
superstitious exercise in honor of the Indian 
gods. Then he thought that the whole affair 
was foolish. “I can do that,” he said. 

“Let us see you,” challenged the Indian. 

Phil recalled an old nursery rhyme which, 
so he had heard, was made up of Indian 
words. It would be most suitable for the 
occasion. 

“Ee— nee, mee— nee, 

Mi--nee--moo ; 

Crack— ee, fee-nee, 

Fi— nee— foo.” 

And here the lad stuck the index finger 


83 


A Discovery and a War Song 

of his right hand into the ground and went 
around and around. 

“Om~ee, Nu— chee 
Po~pee, tu— chee 

Rick, bick, band doo.” 

And while he said these words the book was 
placed upon his head with the leaves flutter- 
ing like the wings of a bird. 

The Seminole applauded. “Well done! well 
done! great Indian dance !” he cried. “But I 
had a reason for dancing,” he went on to ex- 
plain. “I have made a discovery. The great 
spirit has sent us food for the winter. It is 
right here. We can stay as long as we wish. 
The great spirit has provided for us.” 

For some time the Indian had been sitting 
on the ground reading one of the two books 
which he had brought with him, while at the 
same time he had examined a green shrub. It 
was of the palm variety, about sixteen inches 
tall, with a narrow glossy, dark-green stem. 
Then he dug into the ground and cut through 
a yellowish, pungent root, resembling a pars- 
nip. The Indian looked at the book, read a 
few lines and again examined the root and 


84 A Discovery and a War Song 

peculiar palm leaf. The root was tasted. Then 
the Indian leaped to his feet and gave the 
war-dance which we have described. 

“Yes,” said he, turning to the boy when the 
latter had finished his imitation dance, “the 
great spirit has sent us food; here on this 
island is enough koonti to last us all winter.” 

On several occasions the Seminole had ex- 
plained to the boy that his people had for 
centuries lived on a root called by them 
koonti. It grew wild in the Everglades, and 
was found in no other part of the country. 
As provisions had thus far been plentiful, no 
search had been made for the root; but now 
that a permanent place for camping had been 
found, the red-man had begun to figure on 
supplying his table for some months. 

“Look,” said he, pointing towards a wide 
area which they had cleared away, “all those 
palms, or what we thought were palms, were 
real koonti roots. But at this season of the 
year they will keep in the ground ; and there,” 
he continued, indicating a part of the island 
as yet untouched, “that is all koonti root, and 
I am sure we can find the root on almost every 


A Discovery and a War Song 85 

hammock. Just taste the root,” he said at 
the same time peeling it with his big hunt- 
ing-knife. 

“It’s l ; ke a turnip,” said the boy as he bit 
the koonti, “but it has a wild taste.” 

“Exactly, it is wild; but recent govern- 
ment investigations have proved that it has an 
abundance of starch. You Irish had better 
look out for your potatoes, for some day 
people will be eating koonti root instead of the 
Irish potato. But come, let us cook some 
sof-kee. It’s made of koonti root, seasoned 
with fish. We have both; come, let us be real 
Seminole and have a Seminole dinner on 
sof-kee.” 

The koonti roots were peeled and boiled 
like potatoes. A starchy matter was then 
squeezed through a cloth, leaving a yellowish 
fibrous sediment. The starch had the appear- 
ance of flour with some slight coloring in- 
gredient. It was mixed with the fish, from 
which all bones had been carefully removed, 
seasoned with red pepper and boiled. 

The two agreed that the sof-kee meal was 
a success. They finished their dinner with 
dessert of apples and cake. 


86 A Discovery and a War Song 

That afternoon was spent in arranging 
various things around the tent. 

After dinner the Seminole became serious 
and sat for an hour looking out over the 
water and saw-grass. He had picked an ideal 
place for wintering in the Everglades; he had 
found sufficient koonti root. There was no 
longer a question of provisions. Would he 
now disclose to the boy the further object of 
his visit to the Everglades? 

He decided to reveal a part of the truth, 
but would not disclose the fact that Phil Reed 
was a prisoner. 

“Phil,” said he that afternoon, “come and 
sit here, I have something to tell you.” 

“You’ve looked glum since dinner,” replied 
the boy, who had not failed to notice the 
change in the Indian’s manner. 

“Not glum boy, but serious. Phil, to- 
morrow is the day of the great spirit. He 
may come to the Everglades to-morrow.” 

“Gee! What will he look like?” asked the 
curious lad. 

“No white man has ever seen him, boy.” 

“Is he dangerous?” 


A Discovery cmd a War Song 87 

“He may be, if he finds that you are trying 
tp be an Indian. I think it better to remove 
that paint and let you be a white boy again.” 

“I thought you said it wouldn’t come off.” 

“Water won’t take it off; but I have some- 
thing that will.” 

After some further explanation Phil began 
to be serious. He did not know just what 
was going to happen; but he felt that it was 
safer to let the Indian remove the paint. 

“It’s only a moment’s work,” said the 
Seminole as he brought a small box from the 
tent. He put ointment on the boy’s face and 
rubbed briskly. 

“Look at yourself” said he, holding a glass 
before the boy. 

“Little Irish boy again,” replied Phil Reed. 

“There’ll be changes for the white boy, to- 
morrow,” said the Indian, “big changes, but 
the white boy won’t be frightened or hurt.” 

“Do you know what I think?” put in the 
lad; “I think that some kind of cloud will come 
over the Everglades and you’ll call it the great 
spirit.” 

“You are wrong. A person will be here. 


88 A Discovery and a War Song 

You can see him,” he added after a pause. 
“But you’re my friend and nothing will hurt 
you.” 

All that afternoon the Seminole talked in 
a mysterious way. He was silent during 
supper and sat in silence long after dark- 
ness had come over the Everglades. Phil 
Reed had trusted Little Deer from the begin- 
ning and his trust had never weakened; still 
he was fearful and prayed with unusual fervor 
that evening. 

It was far into the night when he fell 
asleep, and even then his rest was frequently 
disturbed. The wind moaned through the 
palmetto fronds, insects chirped within and 
around the tent, and blackbirds in the pines 
kept their noisy vigil. 

Midnight came on. The wind still moaned 
through the palmettoes, insects still chirped, 
blackbirds uttered faint calls from the pines; 
but Phil Reed was in the land of slumber. 


CHAPTER IX 


SOLVING THE MYSTERY 

W hen Phil Reed awoke the tent was 
flooded with light. The boy looked 
around to see whether any changes had taken 
place. Nothing had been disturbed. He 
noticed, however, that the Seminole’s cot was 
empty. 

Out from the tent he went. Not ten feet 
away he saw a white man mending a fishing 
line. 

“Mister; who are you?” he asked, walking 
up to the stranger. 

“Twist, Oliver Twist,” came the reply, al- 
though the man did not so much as look up 
from his work. 

“Where did you come from?” 

“Several places.” 

“Well, how did you get here?” 

“Presto, and I am here.” 

89 


90 Solving the Mystery 

“You didn’t swim or wade; and I don’t see 
any canoe,” said the boy looking around him. 

“Presto, and I am here,” repeated the man. 

“Where is the Indian?” asked the lad who 
now turned and looked around the island. 

“Presto, and he was gone,” said the strange 
individual. 

“Please, sir, won’t you tell where he is, 
and where you came from?” 

“We were metamorphosed.” 

“What does that mean?” 

“Means what it means, metamorphosed, 
changed, vanished ; and here is Mr. Poe, 
Edgar Allen Poe.” 

“Is that your name?” 

“It certainly is.” 

“You lust said your name was Oliver 
Twist.” 

“Certainly, I forgot, I have several names; 
but you can call me Mr. Twist, or if you wish, 
Oliver Twist.” 

“I read about little Oliver Twist. He’s the 
boy who didn’t get enough to eat.” 

“Is that so? I’m sorry for him. But you 
want to know about your Indian friend?” 

“Yes, sir; where is he?” 


91 


Solving the Mystery 

“Did I not explain, my fair red-headed lad, 
did I not explain that he was metamor- 
phosed?” 

“He ain’t drowned, is he?” 

“Not much.” 

“Or killed?” 

“Well, I should say not.” 

“He ain’t on this island,” said the boy, “for 
I could see him.” 

“Run around and see whether you can find 
him.” 

Phil ran from bush to bush and looked 
along the shore. “I can’t find him,” was his 
report on returning. 

“You can’t find him; then he must have 
vanished, disappeared, metamorphosed,” were 
the careless repetitions, as if the matter were 
plain and of no importance. But it was im- 
portant to Phil Reed, who was beginning to 
view the matter seriously. “Did you ever 
play, Hide-and-Go-Seek V* asked the stranger. 

“Yes, sir,” replied the boy wondering what 
such a trivial pastime could have to do with 
the serious matter of finding oneself with a 
stranger in the Everglades. 

“Let me see, you play it this way,” said the 


92 Solving the Mystery 

man. “You shut your eyes and count fifty, 
while some one hides a stick; then you try to 
find it.” 

“You count forty,” put in the boy. 

“I like to count fifty,” replied the man. 

“But I don’t want to play,” protested the 
lad. “I want to know where the Indian is.” 

“Just what I’m going to show you; only 
we will do it by playing Hide-and-Go-Seek ” 

“No, you won’t.” 

“Yes, I will. But, of course, if you are not 
anxious to find the Indian; then let the game 
go.” Phil Reed was puzzled. While he stood 
looking at the man, the latter, who was calm- 
ly adjusting his fishing line, began: “You 
run to the end of the island, close your eyes 
and count fifty ; and when you come back your 
Indian friend will be sitting right here.” 

“Oh! I know now!” claimed the boy! “He 
is hiding out there in the water and grass.” 

“Cold — cold — cold,” repeated the man, 
imitating the actions of children who in Hide - 
and-Go-Seek cry out these words when a child 
is wandering far away from the object that 
has been hidden. 


Solving the Mystery 93 

“He is up in one of the trees.” 

“Cold — cold — cold but come, boy, play the 
game with me.” 

“And will the Indian be right here when I 
count forty?” 

“No, little sir, you count fifty. I always 
count fifty in my game.” 

“Where do I hide?” asked the boy whose 
curiosity was being aroused. 

“You must run to the far end of the island, 
shut your eyes tight, and count fifty slowly. 
Will you play?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“And you won’t open your eyes?” 

“No, sir.” 

“You’re sure?” 

“Yes, sir; cross my heart,” and Fhil made 
a cross on his breast, the solemn pledge which 
few lads will fail to keep. 

“Then the game begins. Run to the end of 
the island.” 

Gif went Phil, threw himself on the ground, 
buried his face in his hands and slowly counted 
fifty. Then back he ran; and to his utter 
surprise there sat his Indian friend alone and 


94 Solving the Mystery 

with the features as rigid as a statue. How- 
ever, it didn’t take him long to discover the 
trick; for there were blotches of white upon 
the red-man’s face and a part of one hand 
which was not well concealed showed the white 
skin. 

“So you ain’t an Indian after all?” 

“Only half metamorphosed,” acknowledged 
the man breaking out into a loud laugh. 

“But you did look like an Indian,” ac- 
knowledged the boy. 

“So thought the man who helped me to 
disguise myself. But now to business, Phil. 
I’ll get this paint off and then I’ll tell you 
who I am, and what we are going to do. I 
am not Oliver Twist or Edgar Allen Poe; 
the names just came to me by chance. My 
name is Ferdinand Rauderly. A year ago I 
came to Fort Key, not fifty miles from here, 
and heard everybody talking about the Ever- 
glades. I wanted to see them. A young man 
of my age promised to come with me, and I 
offered to pay all expenses. I read several 
books about the place and felt sure that I 
could live in the Everglades for six months. 


Solving the Mystery 95 

At the last minute my friend went back on 
his promise. At first I thought of staying in 
the Everglades alone, but I wanted a com- 
panion. By chance I ran across you. Now 
you know the story. Shake hands! Ferdinand 
Rauderly and young Phil Reed are to have 
the honor of exploring some unknown parts 
of the Florida Everglades.” 

By this time the speaker had removed all 
the paint from his face. 

“Is the great spirit coming?” the boy 
asked. 

“No, I was only joking. I am the great 
spirit. I only wanted to let you know that 
there would be a change here. Now you see 
the change. I have turned from a Seminole 
Indian to a white man.” 

“But why did you paint yourself like an 
Indian?” 

“Don’t ask me that question. Some day 
I may tell you. For the present we are ex- 
plorers. The koonti, which we found yester- 
day, will support us as long as we wish to 
stay here. Then we can fish and hunt. It 
will be a glorious life — a glorious life! Come 
let us get our breakfast!” 


CHAPTER X 


THE SLACKER 

F erdinand Rauderly was a slacker. 

When the United States declared war 
on Germany, this young man, an only child 
and a heir to a fortune, found not the courage 
to respond to his country’s call. But how 
would he evade the draft? How could he 
escape the net thrown around the entire 
country for those who had deserted? Two 
years previously, when he was nineteen, he 
had visited south Florida and had seen the 
border of the Everglades. He had heard 
strange stories of this mysterious place — a 
haunt for deserters during the Civil War. 
What better place could he seek? To the Ever- 
glades he would go. 

Ferd, or Raud, as he was familiarly called 
by his companions and high school associates, 
had lived his entire life in Chicago, where his 

96 


The Slacker 


97 


father had amassed a fortune in the hardware 
business. After the latter’s death, the boy 
was brought up in ease and indulgence. He 
was rather tall and slender, had a nicely 
shaped head with sandy, curly hair, and there 
was something pleasant about his features, 
which were, however, wanting in firmness. 
His interest in games was for the most part 
limited to that of an observer, for he seldom 
took part in any sports except tennis and 
roller skating. He was fond of books and in 
his reading had been well directed by his 
mother. Since leaving high school he had 
made two trips with boy friends to a lake in 
northern Wisconsin; an experience in which 
he had learned much about taking care of his 
automobile, running a launch, and casting for 
game-fish. Probably, in normal times Ferdi- 
nand Rauderly would have developed into a 
good citizen. It did not occur to him that he 
would bring disgrace upon his mother and 
make it forever impossible for him to in- 
herit and enjoy the fortune which his father 
had left. 

One morning, young Rauderly went to a 


98 


The Slacker 


store to purchase an Indian outfit. He took 
with him the colored picture of a Seminole and 
asked to receive just such a costume. 

“Can you teach me how to paint myself like 
an Indian?” he asked of the proprietor. 

“Nothing easier,” replied the little man with 
a smile, for he recognized at once that the 
well-dressed young purchaser could pay for 
any lessons. 

“I’m going to take part in a little play, I 
want to make myself up, and also keep the 
costume for some further performance.” 

“You’ll be a duplicate of the picture in 
your hand,” assured the proprietor. 

“How long will it take to teach me?” 

“Let me see! Since you look like a very 
bright young man, I think that you can learn 
in three lessons. Most people require five 
lessons.” 

“And the cost?” 

“Not much; and since you are going to buy 
the costume I’ll — I’ll — charge you only seven 
dollars for the three lessons and ten dollars 
for the outfit — and one dollar for the paint.” 
The proprietor was afraid of adding further 
to the cost. 


The Slacker 99 

“Will you agree to teach me to paint my- 
self?” 

“Certainly, you will be so much of an 
Indian that you won’t know yourself from 
the picture in your hand.” 

“When will we .begin?” 

“Right now; you may be able to take all 
three lessons to-day.” 

“Then let us start,” was the reply of the 
youth. 

Young Rauderly was indeed surprised at 
the simplicity of the art; for in a very short 
time he could apply the color and draw the 
darker lines which gave him the appearance of 
an Indian. 

Next came the costuming, moccasins for his 
feet, deer skin leggings with rows of beads 
at the sides, a dark green shirt, and a turban 
made of a red towel around his head. Ferd 
had read in books that this red towel was also 
used for attracting deer in hunting. 

“A real Seminole, a Seminole chief,” re- 
marked the proprietor, as he lead the young 
man to view himself in a glass. The trans- 
formation was perfect. 

“I didn’t think you could do it,” replied 


100 


The Slacker 


Ferd. “My own mother would not know me; 
and I could run for the office of chief/’ 

“If they elect their chiefs,” put in the man. 

“Yes they do elect them,” added the young 
man. 

“You seem to be well posted on the 
Seminoles.” 

“Been reading a little,” said Ferd cautiously. 

This much was settled; Ferdinand Rauderly 
could disguise himself as a Seminole. He 
had not forgotten that most of the Indians 
wore large silver earrings. However, so 
many of the tribe had given up this practice 
that it would not seem strange or excite 
suspicion if an Indian appeared without this 
part of the tribe’s outfit. 

One of the latest adventurers, who crossed 
a section of the Everglades, had used a can- 
vas canoe on account of its light weight; but 
he had expressed it as his opinion that a steel 
boat would be best adapted to the trip, and 
recommended one, sixteen feet long with thirty 
inch beam and water-tight sections at either 
end. Young Rauderly found one that meas- 
ured exactly these proportions. He also 


The Slacker 


101 


secured mortar for mending and paint to keep 
the canoe from rusting. He knew that a 
motor or oars could not be used in the Ever- 
glades owing to the heavy grass ; but a detach- 
able motor would be handy in reaching the 
margin. He could then hide his motor and 
oars, and make use of a pole. 

In a store, Ferd found an aluminum out- 
fit which was probably an improvement on 
that of any previous explorer of the Ever- 
glades. It consisted of a pot into which 
another pot fitted. Then came two frying 
pans, two dishes, two plates, two cups, a 
coffee pot, knives, forks and spoons, a most 
ingenious hunter’s outfit for two. 

He had not thought of a companion, and 
yet he believed that in some way he would 
pick up an associate. This outfit for two, 
therefore, fitted in with his general scheme. 

He took with him two books written by 
explorers who had spent weeks in the Ever- 
glades. He had also read the report of two 
army officers who had warred with the 
Seminoles, and knew the hardships and nec- 
essary equipment for life in this mysterious 
world of land and water. 


102 


The Slacker 


A week after all the equipment had been 
shipped to a southern port, the slacker bought 
his ticket to Tampa, Florida. 

And now came the hardest thing of all, 
leaving home. Ferdinand Rauderly had im- 
agined that he had completely deceived his 
mother. He whistled and danced and sung, 
and did all ill his power to show that he was 
in the best of humor. In fact, it was his 
forced hilarity that had awakened his mother’s 
suspicion. 

“And you may be called to your country’s 
service next week.” Mother and son were 
sitting at supper. Ferd had in his pocket the 
ticket to Tampa. A small valise had been 
slipped away and checked at the depot, for 
he would leave the house empty-handed to 
divert all suspicion. No answer came to the 
mother’s words. 

“Your country may call you next week.” 
Still there was no reply. “I know that you 
have felt it my boy. You have thought that 
you were deceiving me. You whistled and 
sang to make me believe that you were happy. 
I know that you wish to spare me the pain; 
but, my boy, your mother gives you up gladly. 


The Slacker 


103 


Go, and remember that your mother will be 
as brave as her son.” Mrs. Rauderly spoke 
with tender affection. Then she reached for 
the hand of her boy and kissed it. 

The slacker could bear it no longer. Rising 
and kissing his mother on the forehead, he 
took his hat and went from home. 

Two weeks had passed and the mother 
could give no reply to the letters sent to her 
from) the registration board. The dreadful 
thought of slacker came to her mind, but she 
would not utter the word. 

Two weeks had passed, and a light canoe 
propelled by a motor was darting along the 
little channels that flow among Ten Thous- 
ands Islands. In the canoe sat an Indian. 
Once he met other Indians but the quick 
motor quickly took his canoe out of sight, 
leaving the Seminoles to wonder why one of 
their own should turn away from them. Years 
before, one of their tribe, who had grown 
rich, refused to commingle with his own; was 
this another instance of a Seminole who had 
turned a traitor to his own people? 

Twice the motor boat was turned up 


104 


The Slacker 


stream to follow the course that lead to the 
Everglades ; but each time the hand that 
directed it grew nervous, and the little craft 
was allowed to drift back among the Ten 
Thousand Islands. 

Ferd had become a wanderer on the waters. 
Occasionally he passed a fishing or wood scow; 
but he kept at a distance, and people were 
in no way suspicious of his craft, for fisher- 
men and hunters often came and went among 
the islands. No one had suspected him when 
he loaded his outfit on a boat in Tampa or 
when he asked to be set adrift near the Ten 
Thousand Islands; and now none of those 
who saw his canoe gave it more than a passing 
look or thought. Still he could not indefi- 
nitely continue to evade the various smacks 
which sailed these waters. He must either 
retreat to the Everglades or return to civiliza- 
tion. 

Like Phil Reed, he had been attracted by 
the coming of the pelicans. He wondered 
why the birds congregated on one island. He 
would visit the island and see this land of 
birddom. 


The Slacker 


105 


To the island he went that November 
afternoon, and there, by accident, he found 
the boy who was to be his companion in the 
Everglades. 


CHAPTER XI 

A HEART THAT WAS TRUE 

W hile Ferdinand Rauderly was remov- 
ing the last traces of paint from his 
face his young companion stood by his side. 

“How old are you?” was the innocent ques- 
tion. 

“Not very old,” was the indifferent reply. 
“Twenty-one.” 

“Not that old.” 

“But you will be soon, won’t you?” 

“Why do you ask that?” 

“I was just thinking of something.” 

“Of what?” 

“Of soldiers.” 

“What have I to do with soldiers?” 
“Perhaps you ought to be one,” was the 
remark. 


106 


A Heart That Was True 107 

“Perhaps! perhaps! And is that any of 
your business, young man?” 

“No, sir, but I was just thinking of it.” 

“Weren’t you taught in the orphan asylum 
to mind your own business?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Then do it! and let us hear no more about 
soldiers!” 

“But, Mr. Rauderly, if you are old enough 
you ought to be a soldier.” 

“Stop, I say!” and for the first time the 
young man showed signs of anger. 

“I would like to be a soldier; and if the 
war lasts until I’m old enough, I’m going to 
volunteer.” 

“You are Irish; and Irish like fighting.” 

“But, everybody should be willing to fight 
for his country.” 

“Of course! of course!” 

“Then why don’t you fight?” 

“Why don’t I fight? Young man, didn’t 
I tell you to stop this talk?” 

“You said not to talk about soldiers.” 

“Then don’t talk about them.” 

“Jiminy crickets! Can’t we talk about the 
war?” 


108 A Heart That Was True 

“You don’t know anything about the war.” 

“Yes, I do, sir; I used to get the papers 
and read every line, for I hadn’t anything to 
do in the evenings. And Mr. Reed used to 
read the papers, I could tell Mr. Reed all 
about the Hindenburg line. He said I could 
go to the army when I was old enough. Do 
you think the war will last that long?” 

“How do I know how long it will last?” 

“If I had been in your place, I’d have 
waited until the war was over and then visited 
the Everglades, so that people couldn’t say 
I was a slacker.” Right into the heart of 
Ferdinand Rauderly went the shaft of those 
childlike words. 

“But I don’t care what people say!” he 
protested leaping to his feet and digging the 
toe of his right shoe into the sand. 

“But I’d care. I wouldn’t let anybody call 
me a slacker.” 

“Don’t talk to me about the war. Don’t talk 
about anything — I don’t want to talk.” 

“I am sorry if I have hurt your feelings,” 
and Phil Reed stood looking up at his com- 
panion. For the first time he saw that his 
face was flushed. 


A Heart That Was True 109 

“Go cut some wood,” ordered the man, “and 
don’t stand looking at me as if I were a 
captured animal.” 

A big lump came into the boy’s throat as 
he turned to obey the command. “I didn’t 
want to make you angry, sir,” he said. 

“We came out here for rest and adventure; 
and now you are spoiling the whole thing by 
this war talk,” protested young Rauderly. 

“Why can’t we talk about it, sir?” 

“Because — because — because I say so.” 

“But everybody talks about it now.” 

“If I knock your head off, you won’t be 
able to talk about it.” 

“I believe you’re a slacker,” were the sting- 
ing words of the boy. 

“Suppose I am?” and he reached out to 
grasp Phil Reed. 

“Then I’d be sorry that I came with you,” 
were the defiant tones as the little lad evaded 
his would-be-captor. 

“You were a slacker when you ran away 
from home,” returned the man. 

“No, I wasn’t. I hate a slacker.” 

“Then you hate me, for I — am — a slack 


110 A Heart That Was True 

— er,” he hissed the words. Then he stood for a 
few minutes as if in a trance — then slowly he 
sank to the ground. “Get me some water,” 
he pleaded. “There,” he muttered as he 
drank. “Keep away from me; I’ll not hurt 
you. Don’t call me a Slacker. You don’t 
know how it sounds. It almost kills me. I’ll 
start to-morrow, you hear; start to-morrow. 
As soon as we can get away from this place 
I’ll surrender and be a soldier,” he said in a 
faltering, gasping voice. 

“Are you sick, Mr. Rauderly?” asked the 
boy in a kind tone. 

“Yes, I am sick. It has been burning in 
my heart all these days. I thought that I 
could live it down. But when you said it — 
when you said the word slacker, Lord, I 
thought a bullet went through my heart.” 

“I didn’t mean anything,” pleaded the boy. 

“No, but I am glad you said it. You 
didn’t mean it, but without knowing it you’ve 
been my best friend! You are a good boy! 
You know what is right, and your heart told 
you what to say. Come, come, let us walk 
around the island. To-morrow we start for 


A Heart That Was True 111 

Harvy River. You know the rest of the 
way.” 

“Are you going to take me back to the 
Reeds?” 

“Not unless you wish. You can come with 
me to Chicago.” 

“How long will it take us to get out of the 
Everglades?” asked the boy, for all at once 
the charm of the place seemed to have 
vanished. 

“I don’t know. Travellers have told us of 
their experiences. They spent weeks and then 
found themselves at the point where they 
started; but as we have a light boat and 
plenty of provisions there’s no danger.” 

“Gee! I want to see Chicago! They say it’s 
almost as large as New York. But I’d like to 
see the Reeds again.” 

“Well, we’ll go by way of the Reeds. 
When you get there you can talk it over 
with Mr. Reed. If he wants you to stay you 
can take your choice. You can come with me 
or stay with him.” 

“I’ll be so glad to see them,” and Phil Reed 
clapped his hands with delight. 


112 


A Heart That Was True 


Along the island they walked with scarcely 
a word passing between them. Ferdinand 
Rauderly was deep in thought. For days he 
had been battling with himself; for days his 
conscience had cried out, “Slacker, slacker, 
slacker.” It was only when an innocent and 
thoughtless boy said the words that the full 
guilt of his deed was forced upon him. 

'Back to the tent he wandered. “How well 
we had everything arranged,” he said; “a 
fairy island for a home, our tent pitched, 
provisions and everything one could ask for. 
Still I deserve nothing but punishment, I 
wonder what they will do with me?” he mused, 
as he sat in the door of the tent with his boy 
companion by his side. “But I don’t care 
what they do!” and the restless youth leaped 
to his feet to face his imaginary judges. “I 
don’t care what they do! Let them put me in 
the guard house! Let them put me in the 
first trenches.” Suddenly he seemed to ad- 
dress some one. “Give me a chance! Let me 
show that I am not a coward ! Let me prove it ! 
Let me prove it!” Then his judges vanished 
and he was standing before his companion. 


A Heart That Was True 


113 


An hour passed before the slacker regained 
his peace of mind. His determination was 
firm. To-morrow morning he would start for 
home, would surrender himself and ask for 
pardon — ask to prove that he would fight for 
his country. 

“I want to climb a tree,” said he to Phil, 
“and look over the Everglades. Perhaps I 
can get a view of Big Cypress Swamp, and 
some idea of the direction.” Standing out 
from the other trees was an old sour-gum 
almost bare of its leaves. Into the tree he 
climbed, took from his pockets a small glass, 
and began to survey the monotonous stretch 
of the Everglades. Yes, that must be the 
faint outlines of the Swamp. How far it 
seemed away! If he were only there! 

Dark objects in the grass at no great dis- 
tance attracted his attention. He looked 
again. Yes, there was no mistaking it. 
Seminole Indians in two long canoes were 
approaching the Pines. 

He slipped down the tree to announce the 
news to his companion. 


CHAPTER XI! 


PRIVATE MAX GAUDET 

I N southeast Florida, some five miles from 
the city of Miami, there was located, in 
September, 1917, the Curtis Aviation Field. 
The heavy wire fence which surrounded the 
camp ran along a ridge of pine-trees, and 
over beyond the pines was the eastern 
boundary line of the Everglades. 

No aviator was allowed to sail over the 
Glades , as they were called by the soldiers, 
for the simple reason that it would have been 
impossible to save a machine that dropped 
down in the saw-grass. Fast cruisers were 
every ready to bring in any unlucky plane 
which fell into the nearby ocean; heavy trucks 
brought them in from distant points of the 
land, but neither boat nor truck could move 
over the Everglades. Hence the orders of 
114 


Private Max Gaudet 


11& 


Major Larnar were that the Everglades 
should be avoided. 

Major Larnar was an old army man having 
seen service in the Spanish War. War with 
him was business. Although he was known as 
a strictly just man, he tolerated no infraction 
of military discipline, and under his command 
the Curtis Aviation Field was a model camp. 

Time and again rumors came to the Major 
that slackers were hiding in the Everglades. 
From the knowledge that he could gather of 
the nature of the place he gave no credence 
to the reports. But the rumors were so per- 
sistent that he finally concluded to investigate 
the matter. 

Marcus O’Donnell, one of the biggest con- 
tractors in Florida, had been awarded the 
work of constructing the barracks and, also, 
of draining a part of the camp near the 
Everglades. 

“Just the man I am looking for,” said the 
Major one morning as the contractor walked 
into headquarters. “Sit down.” 

“Aon I to be court-martialed?” laughed the 
big Irishman. 


116 Private Maoc Gaudet 

“Yes, if you give me the wrong informa- 
tion. You have been living in Florida for 
many years. Do you know all about the 
Everglades?” 

“Probably as much as any other white man 
in the States; you see I have been on the 
Drainage Commission.” 

“Been all through the Everglades?” 

“No, sir.” 

“How far?” 

“Well, Major, you don’t have to go all 
through the Everglades to know them; one 
or two days spent there will give you a good 
idea of the whole place.” 

“I don’t intend to go — at least for the 
present; I am simply asking for information. 
How many slackers do you think are hiding 
in the Everglades?” 

“Do you mean Indians or white?” 

“Either Indians or white.” 

“As for the Indians,” said the contractor, 
“there are few young Indians left; only a few 
old fellows who like to be called chiefs, and 
some squaws and children.” 

“Well, let the Indians go. What about 


Private Maoc Gaudet 


11 ? 


white slackers ?” and while he listened to the 
contractor he ran his eyes over the morning 
mail. 

“There may be five, possibly three, prob- 
ably one, and more probably none. You see,” 
he continued, “no one could get into the 
Everglades unless he had a rather costly out- 
fit. Those who have gone through them are 
experienced hunters and travelers. They 
Stay for five or six weeks. Some of them have 
never come out. Then there are foolish stories 
of trunks of gold left there by the Spaniards. 
There is a great deal of writing and talking 
about the Everglades. When we have a bad 
crop in Florida, we write and talk about the 
Everglades — their beauty, romance, fertility 
and all that kind of stuff. Then some rich 
Yankee comes down here to speculate and we 
make enough on him to carry us through the 
year,” and Marcus O’Donnell laughed 
heartily. 

“It seems to me,” interrupted the Major, 
“that the Florida Cracker has got so used to 
robbing the Yankee that he does it in poor 
seasons and good seasons. But coming back 


118 Private Maw Gaudet 

to the slackers. You don’t put any stock in 
these rumors?” 

“Not in the least.” 

“Helloo!” exclaimed the Major glancing 
at a letter from Washington, “the rumors 
have reached the War Department. By 
George!” he continued, “I am ordered by the 
War Department to make a thorough investi- 
gation and to round up all slackers in the 
Everglades.” 

“That’s the Yankee of it,” replied the con- 
tractor; “those people at Washington think 
that you can march out into the Everglades 
in an afternoon and come back for supper.” 

“And I haven’t any time for this trifling,” 
protested the Major. “I am to have fifty men 
ready to report at Newport News within two 
weeks, and now I’m to send them out on a 
fool’s errand.” 

“If a machine drops into the Everglades,” 
said the contractor, “it will never come back 
again; and I don’t see how the flyer will come 
back.” 

“Well,” said the officer rising from his seat 
and pacing his small office, “I must investi- 


Private Maoc Gaudet 


119 


gate; but the orders don't say how much or 
how long. I have it,” he continued after a 
short pause. “ I have one hydroplane here 
and a wonderful little flyer.” 

He rang a bell and in stepped an orderly. 
“Order Private Gaudet to report here.” 
“Don’t go,” he said to the contractor who had 
risen; “be seated. I want you to listen to my 
instruction to this young man, and if I’m 
wrong kindly assist me with your experience 
and knowledge.” Pleased by the remarks 
Marcus O’Donnell sat down. “This young 
man, for whom I sent is a French Canadian, 
a perfect dare-devil, I wouldn’t lose him for 
fifty men. He has been crazy to fly over the 
Everglades.” As he spoke in walked a slender 
youth with an almost boyish face. 

“Why, chap,” said the big contractor, when 
introduced to him, “y° u are just a boy.” 

“But he thinks he’s an eagle,” said the 
officer. 

Private Gaudet stood at rigid attention. 

“Private Gaudet,” said the Major, “rumors 
have come to headquarters that there are 
slackers hiding in the Everglades. Go in the 


120 


Private Max Gaudet 


hydroplane and investigate as far as you can; 
but take no chances; report here an hour be- 
fore retreat.” 

The young aviator saluted, turned me- 
chanically on his heels and started for the 
door. 

“Say, young chap, come back here,” called 
out Marcus O’Donnell. 

But Private Gaudet went on until he heard 
the voice of his commander to return. 

“I wish that you would listen to this man,” 
said the officer. “He is an old resident of 
Florida and will be able to give you some 
advice,” and he bowed to the contractor. 

“In the first place,” began Marcus O’Don- 
nell, “watch that saw-grass that covers the 
Everglades. It has got many a man who 
thought it looked harmless, so at least the 
stories go. Don’t think that you can push 
your way through that grass with the wings 
of your machine, for you can’t. Don’t come 
down until you see a clear space. There are 
lots of them. I wager that you are going 
out for a day’s sport. Don’t look so serious.” 
But the youth’s face did not unbend. “I’ll 


Private Max Gaudet 


121 


wager that you see not one slacker, perhaps not 
an Indian. Yes, Major, 111 wager he doesn’t 
see a slacker.” Down into his pocket went 
the contractor, and placing a hundred dollar 
bill on the officer’s desk, he continued; “that 
belongs to the young man if he brings back 
a slacker with him for supper.” 

“His machine has two seats,” explained the 
major; “if he finds one your bill is gone.” 

“It’s in your hands, officer, and it’s his, if he 
brings back his man. What will you do?” he 
asked the Major. 

“Why, I’ll court-martial the slacker and 
shoot him at sunset.” 

“No, sir. Major, the first slacker to come in 
must be pardoned.” 

“All right,” agreed the Major, taking a 
chance, for he knew that a higher power than 
his was needed to pardon a deserter. 

“Have you any further directions,” he asked 
of the contractor. 

“Yes, something very important. Sit down 
young man.” 

But Private Gaudet stood at rigid atten- 
tion. 


122 


Private Max Gaudet 


“Be seated,” said the officer. 

“Now, we can talk business,” said the con- 
tractor, “that stiff standing may be all right 
for war, but I like to get a man in a chair.” 

“That’s the way you get us Yankees,” 
replied the officer. 

“Yes,” acknowledged the man, “it’s easy 
fishing to catch a Yankee. But, you see, 
I’m interested in this young man, I want him 
to win my bill and free a prisoner.” 

“I forgot,” said the officer, “that he entrains 
to-morrow for Newport News. If he is to 
win your hundred dollars, he must do so to- 
day.” 

“I’ll do my best to help him,” assured the 
contractor. “Now, young man, don’t look 
around the grass for slackers. If they are 
in the grass they must also be in a canoe and 
you can see them for miles. Then don’t look 
into every clump of trees. The only islands 
where men can conceal themselves have pine 
or palmetto or other large trees on them. 
Don’t bother about the islands with small 
mangrove bushes on them. They look dry 
from a distance, but you’ll find that there 


123 


Private Max Gaudet 

isn’t enough land there for a turtle to sun or 
a moccasin to curl up on. That’s about all, 
and I hope that you win my hundred dollars, 
although I feel perfectly safe. See here, 
Major,” he continued, “you are only holding 
the stakes and if the chap doesn’t win, back 
comes the money to me.” 

“Oh, I’ll take out enough for a box of 
cigars,” replied the officer. 

Once out of the headquarters the features 
of Private Gaudet relaxed. Like a boy he 
skipped across the field to the sheds. 

Testing every part of his hydroplane to a 
nicety and providing for an eight hour trip. 
Private Gaudet stepped into his machine. In 
the meanwhile the news of his mission had 
gone around the camp, and a crowd of aviators 
had come to see him off. 

They cheered as his machine started spin- 
ning along the field. Then they watched it 
rise into the air, circle the camp and sail like 
a great bird over the pine-trees towards the 
Everglades. 


CHAPTER XIII 


UNWELCOME VISITORS 

“T^Von't get frightened, Phil, but we mustn’t 
let those Indians know that we are here,” 
were the warning words, of young Rauderly 
when he had come down from the observation 
tree. “Seminoles are harmless when they visit 
towns and cities, but who knows what they 
will do out here in the Everglades. Then 
we have guns and knives and cooking utensils 
that might be a temptation to them.” 

“I want to get out of this place,” whimpered 
Phil; “nothing but snakes and things here. 
Let’s ask them to show us the way out.” 

“Are you going crazy? They will only kill 
you! Listen to me; if you make any noise 
after the Indians reach the island I’ll kill 
you. Do you hear?” These were the sever- 
est words that Ferdinand Rauderly had used 
124 


Unwelcome Visitors 


125 


towards the lad. 

“I want to get out of here!” 

“Do you want to get killed here?” 

“No, Mr. Ferd.” 

“Then, do as I tell you. We won’t make 
a fire, and we’ll hide in the bushes. The 
Indians may stay only a few days, or even 
only long enough to cook their meal. Re- 
member now you are to make no noise.” 

“Yes, Mr. Ferd.” 

“And you are to remain hidden until I give 
the signal.” 

“Yes, Mr. Ferd.” 

“There! I knew you would do it. It v/op’t 
be long before we start.” 

The first thing to do was to lower the tent 
and conceal it among the bushes. When this 
had been done and all other signs of habitation 
removed, Ferdinand again climbed the gum- 
tree. “You needn’t hide until you hear me 
whistle,” were his parting words. “Oh, yes,” 
he said, turning towards the boy, “dig the 
koonti roots, we’ll need two bushels for the 
trip, I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

It was an ideal observation post, with one 


126 


Unwelcome Visitors 


limb bending far out over the water and away 
from the foliage of the other trees, still it had 
sufficient leaves to hide the observer. 

There was no mistaking the two canoes. 
Some thirty feet long and but a little over a 
foot in width, they were evidently the water 
craft of the Seminoles, made of a single 
trunk of a cypress-tree. Their weight and 
high prows made them convenient for work- 
ing one’s way through the tall grass. Slowly 
— slowly — slowly they crept along. 

With his glass Rauderly could examine the 
features of the Indians. In one boat there 
were six occupants and in the other nine. 
There was only one man, and from the rich 
decorations of his head-gear he was evidently 
a chief. There were five squaws and the rest 
were children. Around the necks of the 
women could easily be distinguished the heavy 
chains with beads of turquoise blue and red. 
They wore lighter beads, too, which glinted in 
the sun’s rays. Most of the women wore 
bright calico dresses. In each boat a single 
squaw was poling, while others were industri- 
ously weaving baskets of willow-twigs. Three 


Unwelcome Visitors 


127 


of the children were eating sof-kee out of a 
huge wooden bowl, using a wooden spoon 
about the size of a soup ladle. 

Ferdinand Rauderly was glad indeed to see 
that there were no warriors in the company. 
But why should these helpless creatures be 
plowing slowly through the Everglades? 

“No danger!” were his greeting words to 
his young companion whom he found busily 
engaged digging the koonti roots. “No 
danger! Not a warrior in the canoe.” 

“Are they Indians?” 

“Yes; but only one man, and he is so old 
that he couldn’t hold a rifle. I think he is a 
chief.” 

“Have they landed, Mr. Ferd?” 

“No, it will be fully an hour before they 
reach the island. I want you to take a look 
at the canoes. You have never seen anything 
like them. They are hollowed out of a single 
cypress-log.” 

With eager delight Phil Reed climbed the 
gum-tree. What a glorious vision was 
stretched out before him! It was some time 
before he could find the canoes, which were 


128 


Unwelcome Visitors 


all but concealed in the tall grass. How 
slowly they went! What could be their desti- 
nation? Would they return soon? Would 
Mr. Ferd let him go with them? Far to the 
left he could see the faint outlines of the 
Big Cypress Swamp; and beyond that were 
Ten Thousand Islands and the Reed home. 
How he wished that he were there! 

His reflections were disturbed by the voice 
of Mr. Rauderly, 

“Have they reached the island yet?” he 
asked. 

“No, sir.” 

“How would you like to travel in one of 
those boats?” 

“I wouldn’t mind it, if it took me to the 
Reeds.” 

“So you still think of your friends.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Well, come on down; you’ll see the Reeds 
some day.” 

After hiding the canoe well in among the 
mangrove bushes and removing everything 
that might attract attention, the two ex- 
plorers began to dig the koonti roots. Every 


Unwelcome Visitors 129 

few minutes one of them would climb the 
gum-tree to observe the two canoes. 

It was late in the afternoon when the Indian 
party reached the Island. As they had eaten 
their provision of cold sof-kee during the 
voyage, they simply rested in the warm No- 
vember sun. Then at a signal they drew forth 
masks and dresses of various colors. Rauderly 
watched them for some time and then de- 
scended from the tree. 

“Do you wish to visit the Indians?” he 
asked of his companion. 

“Will they take us home?” and the boys 
eyes brightened. 

“I don’t know; but they are getting ready 
for some kind of ceremony and I am inter- 
ested.” 

“What’s that noise?” Ferdinand Rauderly 
leaped to his feet. There was a chug, chug, 
chug and a whirr — whirr — whirr — overhead. 
In full view in the sky was a flying machine. 
Round and around the larger island it circled. 

Indian women and children screamed and 
fell prostrate upon the ground. But the chief 
stood passive to welcome the great spirit who 


130 


Unwelcome Visitors 


in his opinion had come from the skies to visit 
him. At each circle the machine drew nearer 
to the island. Finally the chug of the engine 
ceased, and the machine glided into the water 
at no great distance from the Indians. 

Ferdinand felt safe in climbing the tree to 
witness the outcome. He could see the aviator 
unstrap himself and lift from the machine a 
small canoe in which he slowly paddled to- 
wards the island. Only the Indian chief stood 
to welcome the visitor. 

“White man,” said he to this strange ap- 
parition, “I thought that you were a mes- 
senger from the great spirit. More than two 
hundred moons ago I went to live with the 
white man. I learned his language; but I 
didn’t like the ways of the white man and I 
came back to the Seminoles. Most of my 
braves are dead; but we are at peace with 
the white man and no longer need to fight. 
Only the squaws and children will come with 
me. We are in search of the great gold 
trunk. Six hundred moons ago and two times 
six hundred moons a white man was cast upon 
the sea-shore far beyond the Big Cypress 


Unwelcome Visitors 


131 


Swamp. He had with him a chest of gold, 
and offered much of it to a Seminole who 
promised to take the white man across the 
Big Grass Water. The white man was sick 
and could not pole the canoe. The white man 
died. The Seminole tied his body to the 
trunk of gold and dropped them into the 
water. The Seminole reached our homes, but 
he too was sick. He told my people of the 
chest of gold. Then he died. Each year the 
Seminoles go out to search for the chest of 
gold. Some day we will find it. But the 
young men laugh at the story, and will not 
come with me to find the chest of gold. 
Only the women and children will come with 
me to find the chest of gold. Perhaps you 
can help us, oh, white man, to find the white 
man’s chest of gold. When I was young I 
saw the great boats of the white man; I saw 
the great iron horses that pulled houses; but 
now the white man sails through the air like 
a bird. Can he see down into the water? 
Can he tell me where to find the chest of 
gold?” 

“Great chief,” the aviator made reply with 


132 Unwelcome Visitors 

befitting dignity, “I’m just out on a hike 
through the air, I dropped down in my hydro- 
plane to fill my canteen with fresh water. I 
am fully three hundred miles from the avia- 
tion field and must be hitting it back before 
dark. Already my companions may be 
wondering what has become of me. I have 
listened with pleasure to your story of the 
golden chest. I certainly wish that I knew 
where it lay. We have stopped fighting with 
the Seminoles, but I am sorry to say that we 
are still fighting. When we whip the Kaiser, 
it will be my pleasure to return to this world 
of enchantment and seek for the treasure.” 

“May I offer you some of our sof-kee?” 
said the Indian chief pointing towards a large 
bowl. 

“Thanks for your gracious kindness, but it 
is only water and slackers that I crave.” 

“Let the children and squaws see you,” said 
the chief. On uttering some guttural words, 
the poor frightened creatures came crawling 
from under the bushes, until at the further 
bidding of their leader they approached the 
aviator, and saw to their astonishment that 
he was only a man. 


Unwelcome Visitors 


133 


They watched him as he entered his ma- 
chine, and saw the great wings go spinning 
over the surface and then suddenly spring 
into the air. 

The machine barely missed the tops of the 
tall pine-trees of the palmettoes, while in the 
mangrove bush beneath lay Ferdinand 
Rauderly with thumping heart. 


CHAPTER XIV 


THE SURRENDER 

W hile Private Gaudet was preparing 
to leave the Indians, there was a 
great struggle in the bosom of Ferdinand 
Rauderly. Now was the time for him to 
send a message to the government offering 
to surrender unconditionally and to expiate 
the past. He would ask for a chance. He 
would offer to go into the front trenches, to 
go over the top at the first call! For the 
first time in weeks there came over him a feel- 
ing of peace and comfort. 

While the thoughts were struggling in his 
breast he saw the aviator prepare for flight. 
Again the fear came over him and he fell 
into the mangrove bushes. The struggle with 
self was renewed. Then as the machine went 
over the pine tops Ferdinand Rauderly leaped 
134 


The Surrender 135 

to his feet, shouted and waved a towel which 
he grabbed from the side of the tent. 

On drove the machine, then it went higher 
into the air, wheeled and came back over the 
palmettoes. Twice it circled the island and 
then dropped into the long deep pool. 

Leaping into his rubber boat the aviator 
soon reached the bank. 

Ferdinand Rauderly grasped his hand. 
“Will you carry a message for me?” he asked. 

“To whom?” 

“Uncle Sam.” 

“Of course, what is the message?” 

“From — a — slack — a — slacker. He wants to 
surrender,” and the words came with diffi- 
culty. 

“Let him surrender to me! Where is he?” 

“I — I — myself” faltered the youth. 

“Then come right on, I’ve been looking for 
you,” and Max Gaudet drew a revolver from 
his belt. 

“Shoot if you wish,” and a sudden brave- 
ness of heart came over Ferd, now that he 
had confessed his guilt. “Fve suffered worse 
than death,” he said. “But I would ask only 


136 


The Surrender 


one thing — a — chance — a — chance to fight — a 
chance to go into the front trenches — a chance 
to win back the name of Ferdinand Rauderly.” 

The revolver went back into the belt. “Let 
us sit down and talk it over,” said the aviator. 
“There will always be one thing in your 
favor — namely you surrendered before you 
were discovered; but I saw your tent hidden 
in the bushes and would have come back even 
if you had not waved the white flag. You 
called me back to send word to the govern- 
ment that you surrendered or wish to surrender 
— it’s all the same. You gave up before an 
officer arrested you. This, I say, will be in 
your favor.” 

“Do you think they will give me a chance?” 
grasped the youth. 

“You are a lucky fellow and so am I; but 
if we are to win we must start. I am offered 
one hundred dollars if I bring back a slacker 
before night; and the slacker has been 
promised his pardon.” 

“How?” and Ferd grasped the aviators 
hand. 

“Why it was only a joke. A contractor 


The Surrender 


137 


and the Major were talking about slackers 
hiding in the Everglades. Neither believed 
the stories going around, although the Army 
Officers at Washington ordered an investiga- 
tion. The contractor offered me a hundred 
dollars if I got a slacker; and not to be out- 
done the Major said, that he’d set the fellow 
free.” 

“I don’t want to go free! I want to fight 
and show that I’m not a coward!” 

“Well, the Major has not the authority to 
pardon any one; but he has made the promise 
and he’ll stick to it. He’s strong at Washing- 
ton. But we must start at once.” 

“But I have a companion,” put in Ferd. 

“Oh, two slackers!” and Max felt for his 
revolver again and stepped to one side. 

“Only a kid,” said Rauderly, “and I per- 
suaded him to run away from home.” 

“Where is he?” 

“Hey Red!” shouted a voice, and trembling 
with fright the boy crept from his hiding 
place. 

“Why he’s Indian or half Indian,” claimed 
the aviator looking at the boy, “and red- 
headed as you make ’em. A red-headed 


138 The Surrender 

Indian. That’s one of the wonders of the 
Everglades.” 

“No, sir, he’s Irish; Irish and freckled- 
faced. I painted him like an Indian, a few 
days ago, and some of the paint is still holding 
on. 

“Well, what will we do with him?” 

“Please sir, I didn’t do anything but run 
away from the Reeds.” 

“From home?” 

“No, Mr. Soldier, I haven’t any home.” 

“What about this one?” and Private Gaudet 
glanced around him. “Will you stay here for 
one night by yourself?” 

“I am afraid of limpkins.” 

“Ghosts, Indians’ ghosts, I suppose.” 

“No,” corrected Ferd, “it’s a big bird that 
makes a most horrible noise.” 

“It isn’t dangerous, is it?” 

“No, sir, but it scares a fellow to death.” 

“Well you look very much alive. Now 
listen. Your friend here has done a great 
injury to himself and his country. He wants 
to be pardoned. If he reaches the aviation 
camp before night he will be pardoned. I’ll 


The Surrender 


139 


take him with me and come after you to- 
morrow morning.” 

Max Gaudet didn’t wait for a reply. He 
did not allow his prisoner to return to the 
tent. He saw the two shake hands and heard 
the boy crying; but he seemed to pay no heed 
to what was going on before him. 

While appearing unconcerned he kept his 
eye on his prisoner. Into the canoe they 
stepped. He explained to Ferd that he must 
be strapped into the machine. 

Up into the air went the hydroplane, and 
before the bugle at Curtis Field sounded for 
retreat the aviator had alighted with his 
prisoner. 

Cheer after cheer went up from the boys 
as Private Max Gaudet walked towards 
headquarters with the slacker at his side. 

Marcus O’Donnell, who had just stepped 
into the Major’s private office on business, 
only laughed when he saw the officer hand 
the new one hundred dollar bill to Private 
Gaudet. 

Major Larnar, however, had a more diffi- 


140 


The Surrender 


cult problem before him. He had promised 
to pardon, and pardon he would; but how 
fix matters at Washington? When he had 
listened to the narration of the private he 
pulled his chair close to the prisoner and 
began. 

“I understand that before the United 
States went into this war you had made up 
your mind to visit the Everglades. I — 
don’t interrupt me. Being of a scientific 
turn of mind, that is given to books and 
learning — I understand, but don’t interrupt 
me” — for the young man wished to add a 
word of explanation — “and fearing that you 
might die in your country’s service, you wished 
to explore the Everglades before entering 
upon duty — there now not a word, you must 
never interrupt an officer — I say you wished 
to explore the Everglades before entering 
upon service. You did not know how much 
time it would require to cross the Everglades. 
Mr. McDonnell thought he knew all about 
them, but he didn’t. Now, I ask, in all justice, 
could a young man with only book knowledge 
know all about them? How could he know 


The Surrender 


141 


the time required to cross the Everglades? 
You ran against saw-grass and hammocks and 
other unexpected obstacles, and time went by 
and so you were detained — unavoidably de- 
tained. Now — not a word, not a word — you 
are in service and have orders from the com- 
manding officer. Private Gaudet says that you 
have some experience, in fact considerable ex- 
perience, in driving your own car ; you can learn 
in a few days to drive a motor truck. We are 
training the men for France. You start for 
France to-morrow and are assigned to motor 
truck service.” Major Larnar was evidently 
pleased with his speech while his civilian 
friend, the contractor, put his hands deep into 
his pockets and roared. 

‘ The Major pressed a button. “Tell Captain 
Madden that I would speak to him, ,, he said 
to the orderly. 

“There is a mistake here,” he explained to 
the Captain. “I haven’t time to rectify it all. 
But private Ferd Rauderly goes with the 
oversea company motor truck service to- 
morrow. I’ll see to his papers later. Only 


142 


The Surrender 


make a note of the matter. Is Captain 
Christopher outside?” 

“He is, Major.” 

“Tell him to step in.” 

“Captain Christopher,” said the Major, 
“there’s some mistake about Private Rauderly 
here. Take him over to your quartermaster’s 
depot, and give him an oversea outfit. I’ll 
hand you the requisition to-morrow.” The 
Captain saluted and retired. “This young 
man is committed to your care to-night,” said 
the Major to Captain Madden. “See that he 
has the proper papers.” 

“I have a short message to leave with you,” 
explained Private Gaudet. 

The Major listened to the story of Phil 
Reed with interest, took all the details and 
promised to send for the little fellow early 
the next day. 

“Now, I’ve kept my promise,” said the 
Major with a laugh, when he was alone with 
the contractor. “But some day there’ll be the 
devil of a mixup at Washington. Here is 
a man in foreign service who has never en- 
listed. But Major Larnar has made other 


The Surrender 


143 


mistakes and has not been court-martialed. I 
was determined that I’d keep my promise. 
Good night !” 

“Good night!” 

And the two men separated. 


CHAPTER XV 

ALONE IN THE PALMETTOES 

P hil Reed stood watching the hydroplane 
until it disappeared, then he wiped away 
the tears with his sleeve. 

For some time he wandered aimlessly over 
the island. Finally he set to work, arranging 
the guide ropes and pitching the tent which 
had been lowered. 

Long before it was dark he tied the heavy 
cord, which held the canvass door, and lay 
down to sleep. 

When he awoke it was bright; the dreaded 
night had passed while he had slept undis- 
turbed. 

Out into the sunshine he ran, and with no 
thought of food sat in an open space with a 
towel ready to wave, if a flying-machine 
should come into sight. 

144 


Alone in the Palmettoes 145 

There was a noise. He sprang to his feet! 
Vain hopes! for it was only a fish leaping in 
the water. Often he had seen and heard 
them, but now how loud seemed the splash. 

A few minutes passed. Again there was 
a sound! Phil Reed glanced up only to see a 
bird fluttering out from the canopy of Span- 
ish moss. 

A decayed frond fell from a palmetto with 
a thud into the water. The boy was startled, 
while his heart beat fast; for his fears and 
expectations magnified the sound. 

Later a shadow swept over the island! Up 
went the towel to signal to the approaching 
hydroplane. Vain — vain hopes again! It was 
only the outstretched wings of a buzzard, 
which sailed silently away and was soon lost 
to view. 

A whir-r-r-r over head, and a shadow too 
large for any bird! Deliverance was at hand! 
No — it was a flock of black cormorants. Hid- 
eous creatures were they at this hour when 
human wings were wanted! Their croaking 
cries seemed forecasts of evil yet to come! 


146 Alone in the Palmetto es 

Phil Reed waited until almost noon without 
touching anything to eat. Then he climbed 
the look-out and saw that the Indians were 
leaving the Pines. Slipping down the tree 
without any thought of tent or supplies he 
jumped into the canoe. 

For hours he tugged and tugged. He could 
not see the Indian’s canoes, nor did he know 
in what direction they were poling their craft. 
He worked madly, almost franticly, but little 
progress was made, and this in a direction far 
to the left of the Pines. From sheer exhaus- 
tion he dropped to the bottom of the canoe 
and fell asleep. He awoke with a shudder to 
find that darkness was coming over the Ever- 
glades. He stood up in the canoe and shouted, 
but his cries were lost over the water and saw- 
grass. Falling back into the canoe with his head 
resting on the hard seat he again slept. 
Several times during the night he woke with 
a shudder, then quickly closed his eyes only 
to drop off again into a disturbed rest. 

Morning came. Under other circumstances 
Phil Reed would have remained stretched at 
length in the bottom of the canoe; but now 


Alone in the Palmettoes 147 

one thing came to his mind with vivid realiza- 
tion — he must quickly regain the Palmettoes 
or he would starve. With difficulty he turned 
the prow of his canoe towards the island, and 
set to work with his pole. He worked slowly 
and carefully, avoiding the places where the 
grass was high or heavy. At times he supped 
the water from the palms of his hands. To- 
wards the afternoon he observed on a ham- 
mock some yellow shriveled fruit — the custard 
apple, although it is more like a muskmelon 
or papaw than an apple. The season had long 
since passed, and most of the fruit had either 
been devoured by the birds or had rotted ; how- 
ever, some of it had clung to the bushes. He 
devoured the dried fruit and quenched his thirst 
with water. 

New courage came to him. On and on he 
poled with ever renewed confidence, until just 
at dark he reached the Palmettoes. 

The place seemed like home to him. Come 
what would he would not venture from the 
place alone. Although weak to exhaustion he 
set to work to make a little tea, found some 
hard crackers in a box and took his first meal 


148 Alone in the Palmettoes 

for two days. As he munched the crackers 
he thought of the bountiful table prepared by 
Mrs. Reed. He had been ungrateful for it 
all! He had been selfish! Now he was suffer- 
ing for his faults! Such were his thoughts. 

When he awoke on the following morning 
he resolved to be brave and set to work to 
take an inventory of his supplies. There were 
two sacks of corn-meal carefully wrapped in 
coverings of oilcloth. Only a little flour was 
left, but there were several small boxes of tea, 
and some cans of sardines and fruit. 

The ammunition for both sporting-gun and 
rifle seemed sufficient, and there were five 
boxes of cartridges for the revolver. The 
shining barrel of the sporting-gun had an 
attraction for the boy; picking it up he aimed 
out over the waters, up into the tree tops. 
Then he took the rifle, somewhat heavy for 
a boy, but a deadly instrument in the hands 
of one who could handle it. The 38 caliber 
revolver came in for practice, and in quick 
succession the lad killed a dozen or more im- 
aginary Indians. Finally he ran his hands 
over the shining blade of a six inch hunting 


Alone in the Palmettoes 149 

knife. The boy opened the two books which 
were contained in his treasures. 

Both were about Florida, one having short 
descriptions of the different birds which 
passed through the state in fall and early 
winter, and containing many colored plates. 

Phil Reed got interested at once. He 
glanced up into the branches of a live oak 
laden with its drapery of moss. What a land 
of enchantment for birds, a great stage where 
they acted, set with dainty curtains of 
tangled lace swaying with frail beauty, deli- 
cate in its dextrous weavings of nature. 

Out stepped a cardinal, a perfect actor in 
pantomine, with its red plumage in bright 
contrast with the dull-green setting of the 
stage. Of course, it could sing and call 
cheerily, but now it was only a moving-pic- 
ture. Its act was short, and back into the 
curtains of lace it went. 

Another actor! Frail its form and tender 
its voice. Phil Reed watched the bird, then 
consulted his book. It was surely a warbler; 
but the book gave fifty or more varieties. 
Why did it not remain still, until it was 


150 Alone in the Palmettoes 

classified? The boy got his telescope. How 
big the bird appeared! Every line of its 
shapely body came out. There was no doubt- 
ing it now, this little performer was the 
golden warbler. 

And that ugly creature bringing bad luck! 
You are a black cormorant! 

Mr. Mocking-bird; but why do you not 
sing? A mocker and not singing. True your 
best notes are not expected except in spring 
or summer when fruit is ripe; but you might 
at least carol for a while. No. Then the 
field-glass must examine you. Fraud ! You are 
betrayed! You are the butcher-bird! Your 
white throat and spotted wings and tail be- 
tray you; nor have you the delicate shape of 
the mocker! 

What a beautiful creature! Proud too, and 
conscious of its gifts of nature, even though 
it is only a little finch. The bird manager 
gave it but a few seconds for its act; for it 
was soon recalled behind the scenes which hid 
it from further observation. 

What a pleasant hour that was for Phil 
Reed! He would spend a part of each day 


Alone in the Palmettoes 151 

in studying the birds. And there was a note- 
book, in which he would write down the 
name of every specimen. How many came 
to the island? Would it not be interesting to 
have their names and know their songs? 
“Birds of the Everglades” — what a captivat- 
ing title for his notes. 

Then the second book was taken up. The 
first part contained a history of Florida; the 
adventures of Ponce De Leon and the 
wonderful story of the Fountain of Perpetual 
Youth. Then there was a history of the old 
city of St. Augustine. The book had a 
colored picture of a Spanish masterpiece, which 
hung in the Cathedral, a picture of the Blessed 
Virgin with the Divine Infant. 

Phil Reed was a devout boy. Removing 
his hat and kneeling on the sand, he reverently 
kissed the feet of the Child and the Virgin. 
Then he prayed that the Divine Child and 
Blessed Virgin would guide and protect him. 
Conscious of his weakness, the little castaway 
found strength in Heaven — in the vision of the 
Child and Mother. 

Then a thought came to him that brought 


152 Alone in the Palmettoes 

joy and peace to his heart and a smile to his 
lips. He would build an altar. How won- 
drous and beautiful had been the May altar 
in the orphanage at Brooklyn! From the 
book he carefully tore the image and made a 
crude frame of cypress stems. As he cut the 
delicate branches, perfume came from the 
soft and green needles. It was like the odor 
of incense! So would the incense of his 
prayers rise up to heaven! 

Into the tent he carried the picture. He 
was well provided with tools. To work he 
yent. When the altar was finished, leaves of 
every tint were collected and put at each 
side, and with them small pine-trees just as 
he had seen the evergreens arranged at Christ- 
mas time. He covered two empty bottles 
with the yellowish leaves of the mistletoe and 
filled them with clusters of purple asters. 
Over the altar and through the pine trees he 
entwined the delicate vines of the jasmine, 
and as he worked he caught the perfume from 
its blooms of yellow trumpets. 

Then he knelt and prayed again. That 
afternoon he recollected that there were 


Alone in the Palmettoes 153 

candles in the collection left to him. He took 
two and placed them before the altar, carefully 
covering with leaves the cans which held them. 
There was no mistaking it, the altar was a 
thing of beauty! Was it not as beautiful as 
the wondrous May altar before which he had 
prayed with such devotion? 

Phil Reed no longer dreaded the coming of 
night. All day long, as he worked and 
tinkered around the tent, he thought of the 
candles which he would light as darkness 
came on. How secure he felt with the image 
of the Blessed Virgin in his tent. 

In the South, twilight is short; the day went 
rapidly by and darkness dropped swiftly from 
the skies. The candles were lighted. Before 
the altar the boy knelt and said his beads. 
How heavenly was the vision before him. 
Almost in an ecstacy, he prayed. He ex- 
tinguished the lights, undressed himself and 
lay down upon his cot. 

How peaceful was his rest. In the curtains 
of moss overhead the birds, too, slept peace- 
fully. 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE MESSENGER OF THE AIR 

A fter his peaceful rest a feeling of strength 
and confidence came to Phil Reed. Kneel- 
ing before the little shrine he said his morning 
prayers; then he looked at his diary. It was 
Friday, November the twenty-first. 

For some days flocks of pelicans had swept 
over the Everglades, coming, as it seemed, 
from the direction of the Big Cypress 
Swamp. Phil Reed knew that the birds did 
not frequent the swamp, and, therefore, that 
they were leaving the island close to the 
Reed household. To him the birds were 
messengers from friends. He could almost 
hear them call out to him as they sailed over 
the palmettoes. 

Frequently, too, the birds dropped into the 
leads to fish. 


154 


The Messenger of the Air 155 

“Trouble out there !” Phil muttered to 
himself one morning. With his field-glass he 
had been watching a dozen birds feeding in 
the saw-grass. Suddenly all the pelicans but 
one rose from the water and flew away with 
wild cries. Evidently something had hap- 
pened to this one which was beating the 
water with its wings. 

“Trouble out there!” the boy repeated. 

“A snake has got the bird,” he mused. 

“Something has got it; that’s sure,” he 
soliloquized starting for the canoe. 

As he neared the struggling captive it 
made frantic efforts to escape. 

“Something is holding it, and the water is 
bloody,” said Phil to himself standing up in 
the canoe to get a better view. “Caught in 
the saw-grass and cutting its legs? Now I 
see!” exclaimed the boy, “turtle, a big turtle! 
a monster of a turtle!” 

A monster it was! By its very weight it 
prevented the bird from rising from the 
water, although the pelican, had it been able 
to mount into the air, would have carried the 
turtle with it. 


156 The Messenger of the Air 

“Let go, you big fool!” cried the boy pick- 
ing up the fluttering bird to which its would 
be captor clung tanaciously. 

“All right! come right in and I’ll make 
soup out of you!” With these words he 
heaved both the bird and the turtle into the 
canoe. 

The latter struck the seat with a thud and 
at the same time released its hold on the 
pelican. 

“There you are,” he said, turning to the 
turtle. “You would hold on, would you? 
This is the last pelican you’ll feast on! I 
know who’ll have some good turtle soup!” 

For a few minutes it seemed as if both 
prizes would escape, for the pelican was 
pounding at the boy with its strong wings and 
the turtle was making every effort to crawl 
over the side of the canoe. 

“Get back!” he cried out to the turtle, while 
with the pole he hit its nose. Evidently the 
turtle did not like this treatment, for it drew 
its head within its shell and lay quietly in 
the bottom of the boat. 

This gave the boy a chance to secure the 


157 


The Messenger of the Air 

pelican with a rope, and to pole to shore. 
After dispatching the turtle with an axe he 
released the bird and took it to his tent. 
Destruction followed, for the big pelican over- 
threw the altar and scattered the cooking 
utensils which were on a stand. 

Leaving the tent and securely fastening 
the door, the boy set to work to make a cage 
for the captive. Stakes were driven into the 
ground and a lattice work was made of man- 
grove saplings. 

After placing the captive in its new house 
the boy sat down and began to talk to it. 

“Say, Mr. Pelican, where did you come 
from? Do you know the Reeds? Did you 
cross the Big Cypress Swamp on your way 
here? I wish that you were a parrot and that 
you could talk. It’s lonesome out here. Are 
you much hurt Mr. Bird? Are you hungry? 
Have you got anything to eat in that yellow 
sack under your bill? Say, you’re a queer 
one! You’re ugly, too; you’re all head. Well, 
I’ll get you something to eat.” 

Off went the lad to cut up some sof-kee for 
the bird. 


158 The Messenger of the Air 

“Won’t take it! Say it’s mighty good/” 
remarked the boy when the pelican refused to 
eat. “Well just wait.” 

He was soon out in his canoe casting for 
a species of white fish which he had often 
caught; as luck was with him the boy was 
soon back at the cage, dangling a fish through 
a crevice. The pelican opened it’s big mouth, 
and the fish disappeared. 

“That’s great! Now say thank you! And 
do you want some water?” Around the cage 
the pelican turned and strutted as if it were 
perfectly contented with its new surround- 
ings. It’s wound did not seem serious. 

All day long, and even into the night, the 
boy talked to the bird. He was no longer 
alone on the island; he had a friend. 

“Say, Mr. Pelican,” the boy began early 
on the following day, “I saved your life, 
won’t you help me? Suppose I let you go, 
will you fly away to the Reeds?” 

There was a nod, for these big birds are 
always nodding. “Good! I knew you’d do it. 
I’m going to send you with a message.” 

With the bark of a willow tree Phil Reed 


159 


The Messenger of the Air 

made a small box, and smeared the sides with 
some resin from a nearby pine. Then he took a 
leaf from the back of one of his books and 
wrote the following: 

A young boy, named Phil Reed, is all alone 
in the Everglades, about twenty-five miles 
from the Big Cypress Swamp. Came by the 
Harvy River. Inform Mr. Thomas Reed at 
Pelican Wharf. 

Phil Reed. 

The note was put in the box which was made 
water-tight with more resin. 

“I wish you could carry this note, then 
come back to me,” said the boy, sitting down 
by the side of the cage with the message in 
his hand. “I’ll be lonely when you go. Now, 
remember that you are to take this letter to 
the Reeds.” 

As the bird was constantly nodding its 
head the boy could at any time accept the 
action for a favorable response. 

He put his hand to the door to release the 
bird. Then drew it back, while tears gathered 
in his eyes. “I’ll be all alone, if I let you 


160 The Messenger of the Air 

As the hours passed the boy talked to the 
bird. Each time that he attempted to tie the 
box to the pelican’s leg he lost heart. How 
could he give up the companionship of this 
new friend! 

The day went by; the willow box still lay 
upon the ground near the cage; the pelican 
was still a captive. 

It was only by a heroic effort on the fol- 
lowing day that the lad came to a final de- 
cision. Tying the little box to the pelican’s 
leg and leaving it to dangle about the foot, 
he drew the bird from the cage. 

“Good-by, Mr. Pelican. Now, you know 
what to do. You are to go right across the 
Big Cypress Swamp, and take the message 
to Mr. Reed.” He kissed the bird which 
was fluttering in his lap. 

“Good-by.” 

Into the air the bird was tossed. It had 
evidently been weakened by the loss of blood 
and want of exercise, for it could scarcely 
fly. It seemed bewildered, too, and beat the 
air feebly. Then slowly it began to circle the 
island while the boy from below watched with 
bated breath. 


The Messenger of the Air 161 

Phil Reed’s heart almost ceased to beat as 
he saw the bird turn and sail towards the 
east. 

“Come back here!” he cried. “Say you’re 
going in the wrong direction!” He watched 
the pelican until it disappeared, then fell to 
the ground and wept. 


CHAPTER XVII 


OTHER FRIENDS 

S ad and lonesome was Phil Reed for the 
* rest of that day; but he awoke on the 
following morning with a determination to be 
brave. 

He took pleasure in hearing his own voice. 
“Good morning, Mr. Pelicans,” he cried out 
to a number of birds fishing in a lead at no 
great distance. “Say, won’t you come over 
and keep company with a fellow? If you 
had any sense or any politeness, you’d take a 
message for me. Don’t understand me? Well, 
you’re stupid birds. I saw a little sea-gull 
rob one of you pelicans and he didn’t wink an 
eye. Good luck,” he continued as one of the 
birds came to the surface with a fish of un- 
usual size. “Hold on to it; that’s right, now 
put it into your sack.” 

He had scarcely uttered the words when the 
162 


Other Friends 


163 


fish was twisted in the pelican’s mouth and 
disappeared in the sack. “Good old fellow,” 
cried the boy, “you are the first pelican that 
I ever knew to obey orders. But, say, won’t 
you come over this way.” Just then the 
whole flock took flight. “Good-by, you 
big fools. I wouldn’t have you around; you 
are stupid things! Get away!” 

This imaginary conversation brought the 
boy so much relief that he began to talk to 
inanimate objects. “How are you this morn- 
ing?” he said to a long jasmine vine hung 
with its yellow trumpets. “You look fine. 
And you, Mr. Palmettoes, how are you? Got 
any rattle-snakes for boarders?” 

Thus the boy amused himself as he wan- 
dered over the island. 

“Stop awhile,” he shouted to a flock of 
white ibises which sailed overhead. “Lots of 
room here f or boarders. N o time to stop ? Well 
come some other day and bring your sew- 
ing.” He stood looking into the heavens until 
the beautiful delicate creatures had disap- 
peared. 

“Say, you’re all out this morning,” he cried 


164 


Other Friends 

again shortly, as the long slender bodies of 
a dozen flamingoes rushed by. For days and 
weeks had he seen these same ibises and flam- 
ingoes go by; only now when he was lonely 
and alone did their passing attract his atten- 
tion. 

Of one thing Phil Reed felt convinced; he 
must have a companion of some kind. He 
thought that he could climb the live oak at 
night and catch a black cormorant, for they 
often came to the island to roost ; but no, they 
were ugly birds, and like crows, would bring 
bad luck. There seemed no possibility of 
catching a white ibis; and as for the pink 
flamingoes, even if he got one and cliped its 
wings it could walk away with its long legs. 

Although turkeys had come to the island 
of late, no attempt had been made to kill 
them, for Phil wished to keep them as a 
reserve stock in case oth^r supplies failed. 
But would not a turkey make a good com- 
panion? Would it not seem more like home 
if a big gobbler walked around in front of 
the tent? Perhaps he could have half a 
dozen. He could have eggs and young 
turkeys. 


Other Friends 


165 


Phil Reed clapped his hands. “The book, 
the book!” he cried. “It had a picture of a 
turkey trap.” Back to the tent he ran. “Yes, 
yes, it was a picture of a trap used by the 
Seminoles. It wouldn’t hurt the game; and, 
wonder of wonders, such a trap had been 
known to catch a whole flock of fifteen 
turkeys at one time. 

“Why, here you are all ready,” he cried out, 
as with his hands deep into his pockets Phil 
stood with evident pride before the pelican 
cage. “Made you without knowing it. Made 
you just the right height, the right width! 
How did I do it?” 

True it was, that the cage constructed for 
the pelican was just the proportion given in 
the book. It only remained to remove the 
box to the proper locality and prepare a 
clearing or path some twenty feet long lead- 
ing towards the trap and under it. Here, 
pointed pine sticks were to be so arranged 
that a turkey could easily push them aside 
while forcing its way into the cage; but could 
not do so easily in trying to escape. 

As the clearing went under ground it was 
covered with a wicker of saplings. Once 


166 


Other Friends 


beneath this wicker and tempted by the great 
amount of food within the box a turkey 
would push its entrance through the pine 
sticks into the trap. It was possible for it 
to work its way out as it came; but like all 
other captives it would invariably beat aim- 
lessly against the sides of the cage until its 
captor came. 

After setting up the cage at the far end 
of the island and clearing three paths to it, 
Phil returned to look around the tent for 
some tempting bait. “I don’t like to use you,” 
he said, as he opened up a tin box containing 
several pounds of peas. “Besides I want to 
make a garden. But as I’ve got to have a 
turkey for a pet, one pound will be well used.” 

“I think I’ll try only one of the paths and 
save the peas,” he argued with himself, as he 
went back to the clearing. 

Phil Reed certainly prepared an enticing 
meal for the turkeys, or rather the beginning 
of a meal, for he used but a handful of the 
peas, putting another handful inside the trap. 

Picking his way back to the place where the 


Other Friends 


167 


koonti root had been found, Phil prepared a 
plot for a garden, at least the beginning of a 
garden. He would first try peas, if they 
succeeded, he would plant some beans; al- 
though he had only a small supply of the 
latter, he was sure that they would grow. 

After working away for an hour he crept 
towards the clearing to make an examination. 
In the middle of the path was a red-headed 
woodpecker, hopping along and picking up 
peas. Soon it was near the trap; but since it 
had eaten its full it flew away to a pine-tree 
and made it ring with its rat-ter, rat-ter, 
tap-tap. 

Along the path the boy walked. Not a pea 
was left. “You robber, you red-headed rob- 
ber, just come down here, and it’ll be the last 
of you. Shame on you! Eating my peas when 
I’ve got so few. Where is your politeness?” 

A shower of pine needles came quivering 
down from the tree as an only response. How 
the woodpecker did make the pine limb rattle, 
for never before had it partaken of such a 
plentiful repast. 

‘Til try some other bait,” said the boy to 


168 


Other Friends 


himself. “I’ve plenty of sof-kee, it’s good 
too. I will spread it along the path. If you 
come down here again,” the boy, looking up 
towards the woodpecker, “there’s going to be 
trouble. Do you hear?” 

The red-headed robber flew off to perch 
on the saw-grass and take a drink. 

Later when Phil was spreading the mushy 
sof-kee along the path he heard something 
fall to the ground from the pine-tree. It was 
the red-headed woodpecker. 

“I’ve got you, you glutton.” True it was, 
for the little robber was suffering from cramps 
caused by the swelling peas. 

Tying a string to the bird’s leg, the boy 
left it in the tent while he went on with the 
work of spreading the sof-kee along the three 
paths. 

Before an hour had passed the red-headed 
woodpecker had entirely recovered and was 
making desperate efforts to escape. Why not 
make a cage for it? With slender willow 
branches and willow bark it would be an easy 
matter to construct one. So thought the boy, 
and to work he went, interrupting the job at 


Other Friends 


169 


times to take a look at the trap; but nothing 
else seemed to steal the food. 

Late in the afternoon the largest flock of 
warblers, which he had yet seen, settled down 
upon the island quite close to the clearing. 

“I’ll keep an eye on you,” muttered the 
boy. But before he realized what had hap- 
pened hundreds of little birds were at work 
along the paths. 

“Robbers, robbers, get out, get out,” 
shouted the boy, running with full speed in 
the midst of the little marauders. To his 
utter astonishment two of the prettiest warb- 
lers were captives in his hat, having dashed 
blindly into it as the flock took to flight. Clos- 
ing the top of his hat quickly the boy had 
his prizes safe. At the same time he looked 
down into the paths and found what had at- 
tracted the birds; the sof-kee along the paths 
was black with ants. 

Phil Reed now had so many things to do 
that he did not know just where to begin; 
there was the garden to be dug and planted, 
cages to be made for the warblers and red- 
headed woodpecker, and some scheme to be 


170 Other Friends 

devised for preserving the bait near the turkey 
trap. 

He set fire to the dry grass and pine needles 
around the trap thus ridding the clearing of 
the ants. Then he placed a fresh supply of 
sof-kee quite close to the cage, returning to 
it every few minutes to see whether any fresh 
ants were getting at the food. In the mean- 
while he worked at the cages. 

Late that afternoon he saw three turkeys 
light on the island ; he heard them calling and 
gobbling, until finally he could see them quite 
close to the box. His heart beat rapidly as 
he observed one of them put his head under 
the cage. Then up and into the trap went 
the big bird. 

Phil could not wait to give the other turkeys 
a chance to be caught, but leaping to his feet 
he dashed for the prize. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE DIFFICULTIES OF A YOUNG NATURALIST 



ot you! got you!” cried out Phil Reed 


vJT with delight. “And a gobbler! A 
gobbler! A big gobbler!” he continued, danc- 
ing around the cage. 

All in vain the bird began to beat against 
the wicker sides of the box. 

“No getting away!*’ said the boy at the 
same time closing the opening under the trap. 
“But I’ll be your friend. Suppose I’ll clip 
your wings to keep you from flying, will you 
stay on the island? Well, I’m afraid to trust 
you. I’ll just clip your wings and then I’ll 
tie a string to your leg. You see, I was too 
good to Mr. Pelican, and he went away laugh- 
ing at me. But this is your home; you won’t 
mind staying with a lonesome little boy, will 
you? That’s right,” for the bird had quieted 
down as if resigned to its fate. 


171 


172 The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 

“Just stay here, and make yourself at home; 
I’m going to see the woodpecker and the little 
twin warblers.” Off went the boy; and on 
the way a sudden thought came to him. Could 
he not make traps and catch every kind of 
bird that came to the island? 

Again the book was consulted. Why had 
he not thought of it before? In the volume 
was a full description of the Indians’ primi- 
tive but effectual way of catching birds. 

Down on the ground he sat and read, “The 
Seminoles are most ingenious in their methods 
of securing birds for eating and for their 
plumage. With the long slender branches of 
the willows they weave rough baskets which 
are used for bird-traps. This basket is fully 
six feet square and about three in depth, 
tapering to a point in the middle. It is 
placed on a smooth surface and tilted on one 
side, being supported by three sticks arranged 
in the shape of the letter four. The three 
sections of this letter can be so arranged that 
the least motion will throw the parts down 
and let the basket fall. With this device the 
Seminoles often catch a dozen different vari- 


The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 173 

eties. For bait they use their own favorite 
food called sof-kee, made of the starch of 
koonti root seasoned with venison and veg- 
etables/ 5 

“Hurrah!” cried Phil as he read; “just the 
kind of bait I was using. I believe that I’m 
turning into an Indian. Mr. Rauderly said 
that I looked like an Indian.” 

“Well, there’s lots of time to catch other 
birds,” he mused. “I must first make a cage for 
my little pets here. How are you Mr. Wood- 
pecker? How are you, dear little warblers, 
how are you? Feeling fine are you? That’s 
right.” And the more the boy talked aloud 
the more he himself felt reconciled to his sur- 
roundings. 

Making the cages was not difficult. Plac- 
ing willow sticks, about a foot in length, along 
the ground, the boy wove them together with 
the bark from the same tree. When four 
sides with top and bottom of equal size had 
been constructed, they were fastened together 
with other pieces of bark and the box was 
finished. But then there arose a difficulty, for 
there was no door. After some further work 


174 The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 

in experimenting, an opening was made in the 
top of the cage. 

As he went to remove the warblers from the 
tent one of them escaped. “Good-by, little 
fellow,” called out the boy. “I didn’t have 
enough room for two of you. Can’t you 
sing?” said he to the little captive after clos- 
ing the door and tying it. “Can’t you sing? 
You are called a warbler; can’t you sing for 
me? Well, to-morrow you may be in better 
humor. You’re thinking of your mate that 
escaped. Maybe I’ll get it again some day, 
and then I’ll make a cage for each of you; 
good-by! I’m going to find some kind of box 
for Mr. Woodpecker, for I can’t make his 
house to-day.” 

“How do you like this?” he asked the red- 
headed captive, holding up before it a can 
from which he had emptied some meal. “It 
won’t be a very elegant house, but it will do 
for a day or so. Then I’ll cut little windows 
in it, and it won’t be so bad.” 

But the woodpecker refused to answer or 
make any comment on the new home which 
was being prepared for it. 


The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 175 

“You like to make things rattle,” went 
on the boy. “This will be the best drum you 
ever had; you can have all the music you like. 
And if you knock a few extra holes into it 
you can use them for windows. Nothing to 
say! Well, you’re not at all polite and don’t 
care what a fellow does for you!” 

“Into your house you go,” were the words 
of the boy as he later slipped the bird into 
its tin cage. “Now make the sides rattle,” 
he said. But the little captive only beat aim- 
lessly against the sides of its prison. 

Phil Reed, after talking to the warbler and 
woodpecker until he grew tired of their com- 
pany, went off to take a look at the gobbler. 
Drawing close to the cage he beheld a terrific 
struggle going on within the trap. A huge 
snake, after forcing its way between the 
wooden bars and attacking the turkey, had 
just succeeded in getting the victim within 
its coils to crush it to death. Frightened by 
the monster snake and unable to strike it 
through the narrow openings of the cage, Phil 
ran back to get his gun; then on second 
thought he put the hunting-knife into his 


176 The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 

pocket and strapped the revolver case around 
his waist. 

When he returned the turkey was lying 
limp upon the ground, and the snake had 
half uncoiled itself from around its victim. 
The brownish-black body of the serpent now 
seemed twice as large as it did when wrapped 
around the gobbler. Scenting danger, the 
hideous thing struck rapidly at the bars of 
the cage. Phil Reed retreated some distance 
awaiting his chance to fire. Finally taking 
aim as best he could he sent a load of lead 
at the writhing form. The shot tore away 
some of the bars leaving the snake uninjured. 

Through the hole made by the gun-fire was 
thrust a gaping mouth and distending fangs. 

“Get back!” shouted the boy, himself re- 
treating behind a tree. 

Larger and ever larger the snake appeared 
as it drew its coils through the opening. 

So much did the boy tremble that he could 
scarcely hold the gun; much less could he 
aim it with anything like precision. Fort- 
unately for him there was a fork in a small tree 
at his side. Swinging the gun into the sup- 
port the boy fired a second time. 


The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 177 

The snake threw its head into the air. 
Another shot followed and the serpent was 
writhing in agony. Without any delay the 
magazine was emptied of its two remaining 
shells; still the frightful creature hissed and 
tossed its head high in air, but it was unable 
to move from the spot. 

After a short convulsion it dropped heavily 
to the ground. 

Phil Reed did not imagine that such a large 
snake could be found in the Everglades. How 
horrid it looked, bleeding in several places! 

“Poor old fellow,” he muttered as he 
walked to the cage and looked in at the 
turkey. “We would have been friends — and 
you were such a fine bird. Well, you’ve 
killed your last turkey,” he continued turning 
to the snake. “I thought that I’d scared all 
snakes from this island.” 

Taking up his gun, on the barrel of which 
there was a two-foot rule he measured the 
length of the snake. Two — four — six — eight 
feet and about three inches, he counted aloud. 
He recalled now that Mr. Rauderly had men- 
tioned a large black serpent which lived in the 
Everglades, not of the poisonous variety, but 


178 The Difficulties of a Young Naturalist 

one which killed its victims by crushing them 
within its coils. Perhaps this was not a 
deadly moccasin but one of the large, but 
less venomous, black snakes. Well, it looked 
like a dangerous neighbor. Where had it 
been? How had it escaped his notice? 

Phil Reed was yet to learn the struggle of 
life in the wilds of the Everglades. Fish 
and snakes, birds and animals move through 
countless dangers and attacks, save by that 
instinct of preservation which nature has 
given them; but let one be wounded or in any 
other way made helpless, and soon its natural 
enemy is at hand to kill and devour. 

He tossed the turkey into the water, and 
with a stick shoved the snake some distance 
from the bank. In a few minutes there was 
a commotion among the saw-grass; before 
night the turtles had devoured both. 

Phil Reed thought no more of his trap that 
day, nor did he talk to the warbler or wood- 
pecker. Before he retired that night he looked 
around carefully under his cot and saw that 
the sides of the tent were securely fastened. 


CHAPTER XIX 


LARGER GAME 

P hil Reed was tired of traps and cages. 

Saluting his two bird friends with a 
passing good morning, he gave them their 
breakfast and went to dig the ground for 
planting peas; then he took his fishing-lines 
to catch a supply for dinner and supper. 
Many a time his hook was tangled in the 
saw-grass, which seemed so intricate, appeared* 
each time without breaking it or losing a line. 
As he fished he became more expert until he 
could drop the fly into a rather small hole. 

He caught two small bass, then landed a 
fine one that would make at least three meals. 
He threw the small fish back into the water* 
and with only the large prize poled back to 
camp. 

He made some notes about a little bird of 
179 


180 Larger Game 

which he could find no description in his 
book. 

Several times that day he climbed the gum- 
tree, which he now regarded as his official 
observation post. Gradually every hammock 
became familiar, and the leads through the 
saw-grass, which seemed so intricate, appeared, 
upon close observation, to be continuous. He 
clearly discovered an open and unbroken lead 
to the Pines. 

Early next morning he got into the canoe 
thinking that he could follow the path through 
the saw-grass; but he had gone less than a 
hundred yards when he was lost in a maze 
from which it took him fully an hour to 
extricate the canoe. 

Then he hit upon the following plan. Cut- 
ting the bark from some young willow he 
made bunches of ribbons which he would 
hang along the path. Had he not often 
watched the colored bouys which guided the 
boats up the East River? These strips* of 
white willow bark would be his guide-posts. 

In the interesting experiments which fol- 
lowed, Phil Reed scarcely found time to cook 


Larger Game 181 

his meals. Progress was slow, but the work 
went steadily on each day. The exercise of 
climbing the observation post and poling the 
canoe gave him a healthy appetite and made 
him sleep soundly each night. Above all, it 
distracted his mind; and Phil Reed forgot that 
he was a helpless prisoner in this strange 
world. 

So many times did he pole the canoe along 
certain leads that he recognized them with- 
out the use of the willow signals. 

Finally the goal was reached! Phil Reed, 
with the satisfaction that comes from work 
and interest, stood upon the Pines. That day 
he was the Columbus of the Everglades. 

The daily trip to the Pines became a part 
of the boy’s life. Finally he removed the 
willow guides only cutting the saw-grass 
here and there to indicate the way. 

On the Pines he found a bay-tree which had 
evidently been used by the Indians for an 
observation post. This he climbed and 
scanned the Everglades to the west. There 
was the Big Cypress Swamp. Beyond it, he 
knew, were Ten Thousand Islands and at the 


IB2 Larger Game 

extreme end of them was the Reed home. He 
had been selfish; had done wrong in leaving 
the family, as his conscience told him, but 
some day he would go back to the place. 

He had found his way across a part of the 
Everglades between the two islands; could 
he not go farther and find his way to liberty? 

He looked again towards the Big Cypress 
Swamp, then back to the Palmettoes. It had 
taken him a week to find a lead from one 
hammock to another. Could he be sure of 
finding his way to the edge of the Ever- 
glades? Besides, could he come back at night 
to his base of supplies? No, he must live it 
out until some Indian came to guide him. 

From his tree-top on the Palmettoes he had 
on several occasions noticed a splash in the 
water and some brown objects moving 
through the saw-grass. Finally he discovered 
that the objects were deer. 

Following the animals day after day, he dis- 
covered that they lived upon a rather large 
hammock which seemed about a mile away. 

Gathering more willow ribbons for guides, 
he began to work his way towards what he 


Larger Game 183 

now called deer island. Progress was far 
faster than he had hoped, for unconsciously 
his instinct was developed. Without being 
able to assign a reason, he began to pole the 
canoe through the best lead. By marking a 
way, once it had been found, he made steady 
progress every day. 

Finally he reached a location near the island 
where traces showed that deer passed almost 
daily. In fact he could see the places where 
they had trampled down the saw-grass. 

Carrying his rifle he took a position one 
morning and awaited the coming of the deer. 

He soon heard them splashing and flounder- 
ing through the water. Three of them stood 
in the open before him. 

He fired, but the deer seemed wholly un- 
mindful of the shot. Again he fired; they 
moved on slowly. A third time he sent a ball 
at them; but they leisurely went on their way. 

Phil Reed sat in his canoe a few minutes, 
then picked up the pole and slowly worked 
his way homeward. 

Almost at the same hour on the following 
day he was back at his chosen position. But 


184 


Larger Game 

this time he carried the shot-gun. Along 
came the deer. With a steady aim he pulled 
the trigger. Away went the deer, tramping 
the saw-grass in their fury and snorting as 
the small shot burned them. 

Some days passed by and Phil could not 
see any deer. Finally he observed that they 
had returned to the island. He had fully a 
hundred shots for the rifle. Would it not be 
better to practice with a few than to wait and 
waste them by missing the mark? 

One or two trials convinced him that the 
rifle was too heavy for his use. Then he 
placed it in the fork of a tree and hit a small 
sardine can fourteen feet away. Encouraged 
by the success he placed the can farther and 
farther and each time hit it or came very close 
to the mark. He could now kill a deer at 
twice the distance of the first shot. 

The deer, he had noticed, came to the island 
about noon to feed. He was up early on the 
following morning, poled to the island, and 
fixed a rest for his rifle with a pine branch 
stuck into the mud. 

He waited in silence. Again the deer 


Larger Game 1B5 

came to feed. There they stood in the open 
unconscious of the danger at hand. 

The boy picked the smallest of the four, 
took a deliberate aim and fired. 

The shot went true; and the deer lay in 
the water with its head resting on the saw- 
grass. 

It was no easy matter to drag the animal 
into the canoe. As he poled his way back to 
the Palmettoes the boy turned several times 
and looked with pride at the big prize. 

The heavy hunting-knife came in handy 
for the work of skinning the deer and cutting 
it up. 

That night Phil Reed was awakened by 
the most hideous and alarming cry. It was 
a plaintive cry. At first he thought that it 
was the call of limpkin; but it sounded more 
like that of a large animal. He had read of 
wildcats and even panthers being in the Ever- 
glades; but they were never known to attack 
people unless driven in defense. 

Phil could not recognize the noise, but he 
felt a creeping sensation as he slipped out of 
his cot and tightened the flaps at the entrance 


186 Larger Game 

of the tent. Then he made the sign of the 
cross, whispered a prayer and slipped back 
into his bed. He thought that he heard 
several angry growls, but fell asleep again to 
be awakened only by the sunlight creeping 
into the side of the tent. 

His first thought on leaving his cot was 
to investigate the reason of the night’s dis- 
turbance. He saw a large animal skulking 
off towards the end of the island. As he drew 
near, it turned with a growl; and two eyes 
were glaring at him. 

While keeping his eyes upon the beast and 
backing towards the tent he was startled by 
the crack of a rifle. 

Phil Reed turned and saw a Seminole walk- 
ing towards him. 


CHAPTER XX 

LITTLE DEER NUMBER TWO 

"TVT E ^ ren5 — me no kill people, bill cats, 
A bad cats,” said the Indian coming 
towards the boy with his hand outstretched. 

Phil Reed was at first startled, for the 
Indian was of the same heighth and features 
of Little Deer; but a closer look convinced 
him that they were not the same. 

“And I’m a friend, too,” said the boy. 

“Where other people? Big men — big 
women?” and the Indian looked around him 
with the evident expectation of finding sev- 
eral in the party. 

“Flew away,” and the boy made an up- 
ward sweep with his hands. 

“Big bird flyer! Me seen! Me seen many 
big birds.” The Indian had been at the 
Curtis camp on several occasions. 

187 


188 Little Deer Number Two 

“And they won’t come back,” said the boy. 
“I’ve been alone for three weeks.” 

“No come back ; little boy all ’lone?” 

“Yes, all alone.” 

“No come back?” 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

“Stay here ’lone, got no eat?” 

“Yes, I had all I wanted. But I wish you’d 
show me the way out of the Everglades.” 

“Me stay six weeks. Then me go Palm 
Beach, work for rich folks— big rich folks! 
Summer hot, me no work. Fall, me work. 
Winter me rest like big folks. Me no got 
money. Me get little canoe, me get rifle, me 
get fishing-line, me get koonti, and me stay 
here six weeks maybe two months, then me 
show white boy way out.” 

There was something simple and honest 
about the Indian’s speech. Like other people 
he wanted a vacation, and he came to the 
Everglades to get it. Phil Reed trusted him. 

“Come,” said the boy, “let us find the 
panther which you killed.” 

“Big cat!” exclaimed the Indian as he 
stooped and picked up the animal. “Much 
big! Kill little white boy!” 


Little Deer Number Two 189 

“I killed a deer yesterday,” explained the 
young hunter proudly, “and the panther was 
after the parts which I threw away.” 

“Much cats come — two, three, four cats come 
to eat deer!” 

Phil understood that they could expect 
other panthers. “Are they dangerous?” he 
asked. 

“No! No eat big folks.” 

“Do they eat children?” 

“No think so.” 

“Little boys?” 

“Little boys no have house in Pah-hag-o- 
kee,” said he, meaning Grassy Water, the 
Indian name for the Everglades. 

“Well, I’ve been sleeping here all alone.” 

“No kill deer, cats smell deer, big smell,” 
and he indicated that wild cats could scent 
deer meat at a great distance. 

“There’ll be two of us to-night, and I’m 
glad to have you,” said the boy. “Come and 
I’ll show you my tent and all the other 
things. What is your name?” asked the boy, 
as the two walked towards the camp. 


190 


Little Deer Nujnber Two 


“Much name, much big name — Mu-chi- 
Pah-hag-o-kee.” 

“Jiminy crickets! That’s a jaw-breaker, 
sure.” 

“Me-love glass-y-wa-ter, that’s Indian name. 
Me-love-Everglades. Seminoles call me: 
“Mu-chi-Pah-hag-o-kee.” 

“The other Indian was called, Little Deer. 
Let me call you Little Deer? Do you like 
that name?” 

“Me like that name; white boy call Indian, 
‘Little Deer/ me like that name.” 

So they agreed; by this time they had 
reached the tent. 

The Indian’s eyes opened wide with aston- 
ishment as he examined the equipment. “Me 
stay to little boy, show him fish, hunt, trap 
otters, get cocoanuts, big turkeys, big geese, 
ducks,” with a wide gesture he indicated that 
the ducks were too numerous to count. 

Here was sport entirely new to the little 
camper. But best of all he had a compan- 
ion. He heard a human voice, he looked into 
eyes that were responsive, he grasped a ha*nd 
that was strong, and he saw a face that looked 


Little Deer Number Two 191 

friendly and innocent. Here was one who 
knew the leads through the saw-grass, who 
depended on his gun and fishing-line and 
koonti roots for his living. 

As they stepped into the tent Little Deer 
clasped his hands before his breast. “Me 
Catholic,” he cried, kneeling down before the 
little altar and blessing himself. “Me go big 
church St. Augustine; fine church, big pic- 
tures, fine church! Me work for Sisters; good 
Sister make me Catholic.” 

“God has sent you to me,” replied the 
grateful boy. “We must kneel and say a 
prayer of thanksgiving. This is the Eighth 
of December, the Feast of the Immaculate 
Conception. I was making a novena for 
help. It ended to-day and was heard.” 

With full trust in his new friend Phil 
Reed’s life now became a pleasure. It was 
soon evident to him that his new friend would 
not endanger the supply chest. The Indian 
would not touch the canned goods or bread; 
nor did he care for tea, preferring his own 
drink made of dried leaves of the bay-tree, 
a drink which the lad found by no means an 
insipid one. 


192 Little Deer Number Two 

The Indian’s instinct was true when he 
said that other wild cats would visit the island 
that night; for scarcely had darkness ap- 
proached when wild, plaintive calls came from 
the hammocks. They drew nearer and bright 
eyes were seen glaring through the mangrove 
bushes. It was only after Little Deer had 
killed two, that the others were frightened 
away. The meat of the deer was safe, how- 
ever, as it had been tied at extremities of the 
branches of the live oaks, where no wild cat 
or panther could possibly reach it. 

On the following morning, when there was 
a question of varying the food supply Little 
Deer offered to add one very excellent dish to 
the table. “Cocoanuts!” he said, “big cocoa- 
nuts, much big cocoanuts! Me know, me fill 
canoe.” 

“How far away?” asked the boy. 

“No much far, back ’fore dinner.” 

To Phil’s suggestion that they use his canoe 
the Indian promptly replied: “No heavy! 
Need heavy canoe to mash grass! White man 
not know!” 

It was a surprise to the boy to find how 


193 


Little Deer Number Two 

the heavy log-canoe of the Seminole cut its 
way through the saw-grass. Then it was a 
real pleasure to see the Indian at work pick- 
ing his way through the leads. 

“Cocoanuts, big cocoanuts,” said the Indian 
as he drew his canoe along the hammock. 

And now the boy saw for the first time that 
a cluster of trees on an island quite close to 
his camp were not common palmettoes, but 
cocoanut palms. The canoe was loaded to 
the gunwhale, and still there was sufficient left 
for the entire season. 

On another island were trees with rusty 
little fruit resembling a withered lemon. 
“Good! Fine, good drink! Better than lemon- 
ade!” cried the Indian. “No look good! No 
eat good; but drink good! Good drink! Eat 
summer time, no fever. Seminole not get 
fever, eat limes, drink lime water.” 

“That’s a lemon,” said the boy as he cut 
the fruit and applied it to his lips. 

“No lemon! No lemon! Lime, lime!” pro- 
tested Little Deer. 

“Well, it tastes like a lemon.” 

“No sour like lemon! Make good drink!” 


194 Little Deer Number Two 

From that day on, following the Indian’s 
example Phil always squeezed the juice of a 
lime into his drinking-water. 

There was a goodly supply of them. On 
the following morning they all but filled the 
canoe with limes. Again the Indian was the 
instructor showing the white boy how to keep 
the limes from withering or decaying, by 
covering the pile with dry leaves and spread- 
ing over it a layer of sand. 

The Seminole made the daintiest dishes of 
fish, and taught the boy how to kill wild 
ducks and trap otters. The fat from the 
latter was an excellent substitute for lard for 
cooking purposes. 

One day Phil pointed out to Little Deer 
the picture of the trap used for catching 
birds. “Me make much big trap,” said the 
Indian. 

He set to work at once and wove a trap ten 
feet square. A most delicate figure in the 
shape of the letter four served as a trigger. 
Every variety of small birds that frequented 
the Everglades was caught. Numerous cages 
were made and hung in and around the tent. 


Little Deer Number Two 195 

Phil was busy a great part of the day feed- 
ing his pets. 

Phil Reed became perfectly reconciled to 
his wild life. He felt that there was no 
danger, and that he could leave the Ever- 
glades whenever he and the Indian wished to 
do so. 

Days went by. Christmas came, and the 
boy remembered the great Christmas-tree, the 
wonder and delight of every child at the 
orphan asylum. 

The Indian, too, recalled the tree at the 
cathedral in St. Augustine. They would 
make a Christmas-tree. They would make 
one of their own. 

A pine-tree of perfect symmetry was cut 
and erected just outside the tent. It was 
wound with the delicate vines of the scupper- 
nough and mistletoe, and starred with hybiscus 
of burning red. From the otter fat the 
Indian made an oil which was put in cocoa- 
nut shells and burned with wicks of wild 
cotton. What an enchanting scene it made 
that Christmas night in the secluded silence 
and darkness of the Everglades! 


196 Little Deer Number Two 

Again the weeks passed by; the chorus of 
song birds and the yellow flowers of the 
butterwort and jasmine announced that 
spring was fast approaching. 

The Indian’s vacation was over and al- 
though he had forgotten his work at Palm 
Beach, he again sighed for the haunts of 
civilization. Phil Reed yearned for a return 
to the home of the Reeds. 

But strange things happened out m the 
Everglades, and their departure was far from 
that which they had planned. 


CHAPTER XXI 


OLD FRIENDS MEET 

“Tndians! Indians!” cried Phil Reed 

A scrambling down the bay-tree and run- 
ning to the Seminole. The boy having 
climbed the tree to make his daily observa- 
tion, had discovered Indians in two canoes 
landing at the Pines. 

Extinguishing the fire which he had just 
started the Seminole sprang towards the look- 
out. “Bad Indians!” he called out to the boy 
beneath. “Big Indians! Bad Indians! Got two 
white men, one much big man; other me see 
before. Don’t know name. White man’s feet 
tied. Bad Indians, bad Indians!” continued 
the Seminole. 

“How many are there?” asked the boy 
from below. 

“Six Indians, six bad Indians,” and it was 
evident from Little Deer’s words he was 
19 7 


198 Old Friends Meet 

ashamed of those of his tribe who had turned 
robbers. 

Up the tree climbed the boy. “Let me have 
a look,” said he, taking the glass from his 
pocket. 

“Me no need glass,” said the Seminole. 

“Heavens!” cried the boy after some ob- 
servation. “It’s Mr. Reed.” 

“White boy’s friend?” 

“Yes, my father; I’m his adopted son.” 

“Me help two men! Slow, much slow,” 
cautioned Little Deer, who knew how to deal 
with his own. 

“Will they kill the men?” 

“Me no think so. Seminole ’fraid kill white 
man.” 

“What will they do with them?” 

“Don’t know, but no kill.” 

“But if they rob them and then let them 
go, Mr. Reed will report them and the soldiers 
will come after the Indians.” 

“Don’t know.” 

“But can’t we help in some way?” asked 
the boy as he again looked through the glass 
and saw Mr. Reed helplessly bound. 


Old Friends Meet 


199 


“See!” exclaimed the Seminole. “Indians 
go fishing!” In a few minutes the six 
Indians pushed out from the island leaving 
the two men on the shore. Even if they 
could succeed in untying the ropes which 
bound them, escape was impossible. 

Luckily the Indians went off to the south 
of the Pines and opposite the Palmettoes. 

Putting the two rifles, shot-gun and re- 
volver in the canoe in stepped Little Deer with 
Phil. They were hid from the fishing party 
by the Pines. 

“We’ll give Mr. Reed the heavy rifle,” 
whispered the boy as the canoe crept through 
the saw-grass. 

“Yes,” replied Little Deer. 

“And the other man gets the shot-gun.” 

“Yes.” 

“You keep your rifle, and I’ll take the re- 
volver.” 

“Yes,” answered the Indian mechanically 
and wholly intent upon his work. Seldom 
did a cypress canoe cut through the leads as 
did that of the Seminole. 

“And we’ll all stand up and fire at once.” 


200 


Old Friends Meet 


“Yes.” 

“And when the Indians see us and hear so 
many guns they’ll run.” 

“Fine,” said the Seminole as with every 
muscle he pushed the canoe through a heavy 
bunch of grass thereby saving several minutes. 

Soon the Indian and boy were creeping up 
the side of the Pines. 

“Stay here,” he whispered to the 1 oy as 
they gained a clump of mangrove bushes not 
twenty feet from the two captives. Then 
with his knife in his mouth he dragged him- 
self along the ground. The Indians were in 
full view but were engaged in fishing. 

“Me, friend!” said a voice to the captives. 

Mr. Reed turned his head and saw an 
Indian crouching behind a bunch of scrub 
palmettoes. 

“Me, friend! No move! Cut ropes.” And 
he pushed the knife towards the captives. 

By twisting the knife between his fingers 
the man soon cut the ropes which bound his 
hands; then those around his feet were re- 
moved. With scarcely a movement the other 
man was liberated. The two men understood 


Old Friends Meet 


201 


their part in the work. Turning they saw 
that the friendly Indian had gone. Soon 
they heard him crawling back through the 
bushes. 

“Big rifle,” whispered Little Deer handing 
the weapon to Mr. Reed, for he remembered 
that such was the boy’s wish. “Big noise! 
Much big noise,” he continued as he handed 
the sporting gun to the second man, meaning 
the big gun would frighten, but not kill. 

Phil Reed was only a few feet behind the 
Seminole. He heard the Indian give further 
directions. 

“All jump! Much shout! Much shoot, but 
no kill,” were the Indian’s words. 

“Jump in bush like deer, hide like panther!” 
All understood the directions. They were to 
show themselves to let the Seminoles know 
that others had arrived on the island; they 
were to fire rapidly to frighten the enemy and 
let him know their strength, then they were 
to seek shelter before the Indians had time to 
fire in return. 

The ruse worked perfectly. The Indians 
saw a party on the island, as shots rained 


202 


Old Friends Meet 


around their canoe. In the confusion which 
followed they concluded that a company of 
soldiers were in pursuit. At once the prows 
of the Indian canoes were turned towards Big 
Cypress Swamp. No attempt was made to 
follow them. 

As Thomas Reed stood watching the 
Seminoles in their flight he was conscious that 
some one had grasped his hand. 

“Papa!” 

“Phil, my boy!” 

“Will you take me back again?” 

“Yes, child.” 

“And let me be your son?” 

“Yes, yes.” 

“And call me your son?” 

“Yes, yes,” and the tears were swelling up 
in the big man’s eyes. 

“Then, papa, forgive me. I’ll not run away 
again.” 

“You are my boy.” 

“And my little sisters?” 

“They talk of you each day.” 

“And Mrs. Reed; does she still call me her 
son, her boy.” 


Old Friends Meet 


203 


“Always, Phil; she trusted you when the 
rest of us thought that you were ungrateful 
and selfish.” 

“And she’ll again call me her child?” 

“Yes, Phil, both of us.” 

“Both of you?” ‘ 

“Yes, Phil, both of us. You’ll be our 
child, our boy.” 

“Thanks, papa,” and the boy wept tears of 

joy- 

In the meanwhile Mark Green, for that 
was the name of the other white man, and 
Little Deer were discussing what action to 
take. 

“We ought to get after them and kill the 
whole infernal bunch,” protested the old 
hunter, Mr. Green. 

“No kill!” pleaded their Seminole friend, 
“no kill, they no kill white man! Bad Indians, 
but no kill white man!” 

“No telling what they would have done,” 
put in the angry man. “They robbed and 
tied us and perhaps would have killed us.” 

“They go, please sir, no kill; let go bad 
Indians.” 


204 


Old Friends Meet 


“You have saved our lives, for I believe 
that we would have been murdered,” he said 
to the Seminole. “You have helped us and 
for your sake I promise not to touch one of 
those Indians. Here is my hand!” 

The two shook hands. “Mr. Green,” said 
Thomas Reed, “here is my runaway son; he, 
too, has helped to save our lives. But have 
you anything to eat?” he asked Phil. 

“Yes, lots of it,” and the boy began to 
enumerate all the good things which were on 
the Palmettoes. 

“Don’t let us lose any time here,” said Mr. 
Green; “those Indians are going as fast as 
their poles will take them. From the volley 
of shot we sent towards them they must think 
the island is filled with soldiers.” 

While Little Deer poled the canoe back to 
the Palmettoes, Mr. Reed explained to Phil 
how he happened to be in the Everglades. It 
was simply a matter of business. The govern- 
ment was dredging the place especially to 
the south and east. There were persistant 
rumors that the western part would soon be 
drained and that the country would be ex- 


Old Friends Meet 


205 


tremely rich. Mr. Mark Green, an old hunter 
and trapper, had agreed to take Mr. Reed on 
a trip through the Everglades to investigate 
the place as a business venture. The latter 
had no idea that Phil had gone in this direc- 
tion. The afternoon that Phil left home a 
lumber-boat had passed near the shore; all 
thought that Phil was aboard it. 

Thomas Reed and his partner were sur- 
prised indeed when Phil showed them his home 
on the Palmettoes, the cooking outfit, the 
supply of fresh venison, the cocoanuts and 
limes, the long row of cocoanut shells filled 
with otter grease for cooking and lighting. 

“But let me show you my altar,” said the 
proud little lad leading his father to the 
tent. 

Down before the picture knelt the man and 
said a prayer. Then Phil explained how he 
got the picture and what suggested the altar. 

“See here,” said Thomas Reed as he ‘re- 
joined his companion, “I wouldn’t mind stay- 
ing here for some weeks myself.” 

“Then we’ll stay,” was the reply. 

“But what of the family? They’ll worry. 


206 


Old Friends Meet 


You remember that we were to be here for 
some weeks and nearly three have gone by.” 

“It will take at least a week to reach Big 
Cypress Swamp, even with the best of luck; 
and then its three more days home,” was the 
reply of the hunter. 

“Suppose we ask our Indian friend to take 
a message for us,” said Mr. Reed. “He can 
get there much sooner than a party will make 
it.” 

“Me go other way,” answered Little Deer, 
indicating that he wished to go towards the 
eastern part of the state. 

“Let me go,” spoke up Phil. “I can find 
the leads.” 

All were surprised as the boy explained 
how he had learned the passage through the 
saw-grass. 

“But you might get lost,” objected his 
father. 

“No get lost,” said Little Deer, “like Indian 
boy — no get lost. Find much way — find big 
way — no get lost.” 

“That won’t work,” said Mr. Reed. “The 
Indian is going to the east shore in his cypress 
canoe; Phil takes his steel boat and goes west. 


Old Friends Meet 


207 


We are left here/’ he continued turning to 
Phil; “those Indians took our canoe. It was a 
fine dug-out made by Mr. Green.” 

“No Indian could make one as good,” said 
the hunter, “and Mark Green is going to have 
it back even if he has to kill every Seminole 
in the Everglades.” But he cooled down after 
a few muttered words of profanity and 
munched at the hot venison stake which Little 
Deer had cooked. 

“And you think you can find your way out 
of this place?” asked Mr. Reed of the boy. 

“Yes, father.” 

“Then why didn’t you try it.” 

“I tried it when I was first alone,” ex- 
plained the boy, “but I didn’t know at that time 
how to follow the leads. It has taken me all this 
time to learn the ways of the Indians. We 
were talking yesterday of leaving the place. 
I’m not afraid to go alone. 

“And suppose you meet those Indians?” 

“I’ll hide in the grass.” 

For some time the situation was discussed. 
All agreed that they should take a good rest 
and wait until the next day to work out a 
scheme. 


CHAPTER XXII 


ANSWERING THE MESSAGE 

M ax Gaudet was now a Captain and in- 
structor in the Curtis Avialion Camp. 
His service in France had been short and bril- 
liant. Again and again he had led a squadron 
of fighting planes against superior numbers of 
the enemy. Seven times unaided he had 
brought down a machine. He had been 
decorated for his valor and raised to the posi- 
tion of Captain. 

Wounded in action, he had been sent back 
to the United States, and assigned to the duty 
of instructor at the Curtis Camp. 

“I am much improved,” said he to a fellow 
officer one day, “and am sighing for the air 
again. My first trip, if I am strong enough, 
will be over the Everglades.” 

“You may find difficulty in getting the 
Major’s permission,” remarked the officer. 
208 


Answering the Message 209 

“I have it already. I cannot drive a matter 
from my mind. I’ll not be satisfied until I 
visit an island in the Everglades. I went to 
France with a so-called slacker. But he was 
true as gold, was wounded — he may be dead. 
We left a little boy out in the Everglades on 
an island, I was to get him the next day, 
but orders came to start for Newport News. 
I gave full instructions to one of the men and 
felt that I could rely on him. Just before I 
left France, and while I was with the sick 
slacker, who should come in but the aviator. 
He told me that he had not been able to find 
the island in the Everglades or the boy, and 
had concluded that the little fellow had gone 
with some Indians. From his narration I 
believe that boy is still in the Everglades. I 
promised Private Rauderly — he was the 
slacker — that I would go to the island if ever 
I was able to fly and that I would send him 
word. Yesterday Major Larnar gave me 
the permission. If I am strong enough I go 
to-morrow.” 

“Interesting story,” said the fellow official. 
“But come out with the squad for a while and 


210 Answering the Message 

chase curlews and pelicans. It’s great sport. 
Here’s a charm I found tied on to the foot of 
a pelican, which I captured some time ago.” 

Captain Gaudet took the charm, a little 
box, in his hand. “Did you examine the con- 
tents?” he asked. 

“Nothing to examine, that I see.” 

“Yes, it’s a water-proof box. It may have 
something of importance in it.” 

“Then look into it,” said the officer. 

Captain Gaudet crushed the box, and from 
it took a piece of paper. As he read the 
contents his face turned white. 

When Major Larnar heard of the affair, 
he swore that he would court-martial the 
aviator who had brought him the false news 
about the boy. Then he blamed himself for 
not investigating further. “Captain,” said 
he to Max Gaudet, “I’ve just received another 
commission from the Government. While we 
have the hydroplanes here I am asked to 
make a survey of the southern part of the 
Everglades for the purpose of getting some 
information in regard to drainage. Mr. 
Marcus O’Donnell, the contractor, has agreed 


Answering the Message 211 

to come with me. We go to-morrow. If I 
judge correctly we will be near your island. 
You will come with us!” 

“Gladly, Major; and if I find the boy I 
send a wireless to Private Rauderly?” 

“Two of them,” said the Major. It was 
well known in the camp that Max Gaudet 
was the Major’s pet boy. 

On the following morning while the party 
on the Palmettoes were discussing the man- 
ner of departure, there was a noise overhead 
and three hydroplanes came in sight. They 
circled the island several times then dropped 
into the water. 

A pilot, who had evidently been the leader 
of the crowd was the first to reach the island 
in his rubber canoe. It was Captain Max 
Gaudet. 

“Found! Found!” cried he, rushing up to 
Phil Reed. “I knew it! I knew it! They 
wouldn’t believe me, but I knew it! I knew 
it!” 

Then as the parties in the other two ma- 
chines came ashore Captain Gaudet intro- 
duced them, Major Larnar and his pilot, and 


212 Answering the Message 

Marcus O’Donnell and his pilot. “Major,” 
said he, “I’ve kept my word to Private Ferdi- 
nand Rauderly; now grant me my request, 
let me cable him the news.” 

The permission was given. Out to his 
hydroplane Max Gaudet rowed. Soon there 
was a click of instruments and the wireless 
station at Camp Curtis caught the message 
from Major Larnar. The lines were clear 
to Washington. Before the sun set that 
night, a fever-stricken soldier, lying in a 
hospital in France, was roused from his 
slumber; and a Sister of Charity read to him 
a message. It ran: “Everglades, March 27, 
1918. Phil Reed found by Max Gaudet, well, 
sends regards. Major Larnar, Commanding 
Officer, Camp Curtis, Fla.” 

While Captain Gaudet was sending the 
message over the wireless, Major Lamar ex- 
plained to Mr. Reed what had brought him to 
the Everglades. 

“Well,” replied Thomas Reed, “I am out 
on business myself. I wanted to buy some 
of this country after the government had 
drained it; but I think this experience will 
do for me.” 


Answering the Message 213 

“From the North, I suppose,” put in Marcus 
O’Donnell. 

“Yes, sir, Brooklyn; but I’ve been in 
Florida for over a year.” 

“Buy Everglades property?” 

“No, sir, upper part of Ten Thousand 
Islands.” 

“Good country, sir; but some parts of the 
Everglades will make remarkable land for 
truck gardens and citron-groves. We have 
made a mistake in trying to cultivate every- 
thing. There are thousands of acres in 
Florida that will never be cultivated. There 
are thousands of acres in the North that will 
never be cultivated. Unfortunately for our 
reputation, some of this poor ground has been 
sold to northern speculators, and Florida has 
suffered. But,” he said, turning to Phil who 
for a moment had been neglected, “we have 
come to the island to get this boy. Did you 
have enough to eat all the time, lad?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Look at his outfit,” said Mr. Reed point- 
ing to the tent. “He has enough provisions 
for the crowd. Suppose we all stay here for 
a while and play Indian.” 


214 


Answering the Message 

“Excuse me,” replied the contractor. “I’ve 
had all the camping I want; for twenty years 
or more I’ve slept away from home for half 
the time.” 

“And I rather like my little cot in the 
barracks,” laughed the Major. 

“Thinking of the matter,” explained 
Thomas Reed, “I’m fully a week’s travel from 
home.” 

“Make it ten days or two weeks,” inter- 
rupted Mr. Green. 

“We have several observations to make,” 
said the Major, “and need most of the day. 
How are we going to break camp?” 

“Much good eat — much good venison!” 
called out the Indian, who had set to work to 
prepare a lunch. “Much good tea. Palm 
Beach tea!” 

“Rather fashionable out here,” remarked 
the Major. 

While the men were enjoying the lunch 
they discussed the manner of departure. 

Thomas Reed positively refused to ride in 
one of the hydroplanes; although he was as- 
sured that there was no danger, and that he 
would be home in less than an hour. 


215 


Answering the Message 

Captain Gaudet offered to visit the Reed 
family and inform them of the husband’s 
safety and of his return in about two weeks. 
There was a place in his machine for a pas- 
senger. Would Phil like to take a ride? The 
boy was jubilant. No time was lost! 

The Indian would take his own canoe and 
go his way. 

The Major and the contractor would go as 
they had come. 

Mr. Reed and Mr. Green would strike 
camp on the following morning and, using 
the steel canoe, bring the camping outfit. 
Moreover Captain Gaudet and other aviators 
would fly over the Everglades every day and 
see to it that the hostile Indians did not 
molest the two men. 

Phil Reed went into the tent followed by 
Little Deer. Both knelt before the little altar 
to say a short prayer. 

“Good-by,” said the boy to the Indian. 
“You have been good to me, and taught me 
many things.” 

“Good-by,” replied the Seminole meekly, 
“much good boy! Say much prayers! Say no 
bad words; much good boy!” 


216 Answering the Message 

“I’m going back to the Reed family,” ex- 
plained the boy, “but later on I’d like to 
come here and camp again. Where can I 
write to you?” 

“Me no read, me no write,” said Little 
Deer. “But me get letter at Palm Beach 
Hotel. They want me work, they know 
place me stay, me tell people. They know find 
Indian.” 

“If I can get the permission next year,” 
said the boy, “I’ll write to you.” 

“Good-by, good boy;” and all present saw 
the attachment that had grown up between the 
Indian and the white lad. 

A few minutes later a shout went up as 
Captain Gaudet and his little charge went 
spinning over the water, rose into the air and 
sailed off towards the Big Cypress Swamp. 

Soon Major Larnar and Marcus O’Donnell 
were gone. Then Little Deer poled his 
canoe out into the waters and was lost in the 
saw-grass. 

Thomas Reed and Mark Green began to 
prepare for an early departure on the follow- 
ing morning. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


ON THE WINGS OF EVENING 

T he great flock of pelicans which Phil 
Reed had frightened away in November 
had more than doubled in numbers. The 
breeding season was over and the young had 
reached maturity. The same instinct that 
had brought the birds together in early winter 
now urged them to separate. Perhaps their 
departure would have been delayed for a few 
days had it not been for the sudden appear- 
ance of Phil Reed. This time he came in no 
clumsy flat-bottom canoe, but was borne aloft 
by the wings of the hydroplane. 

At his approach the whole world of bird- 
dom took to flight. Though swift of wings 
the pelicans were no match for the machine, 
which was soon in their midst. In fact, it 
required considerable skill on the part of 
217 


218 On the Wings of Evening 

Captain Max Gaudet to avoid the cloud of 
birds. 

“Well catch one,” he shouted to Phil, for 
although the boy was close beside him the 
noise of the machine made conversation all 
but impossible. 

“And I’ll take it home with me,” came the 
answer. 

“Get ready!” directed the aviator turning 
the machine towards a single pelican. “You 
grab it.” 

Up and down darted the bird, with the 
machine fast overtaking it. 

“Now!” cried the aviator as the hydroplane 
cut in under the prize. 

Had not Phil Reed been strapped to his 
seat, the monster bird would have lifted him 
into the air. As it was the boy had not the 
strength to hold the affrighted pelican. All 
that he had in his hands after a short struggle 
were a few feathers. 

“We’ll try another one,” cried out the 
aviator. 

Phil was all excited as with both hands he 
prepared for his second attempt. This time 


219 


On the Wings of Evening 

the machine struck the pelican and sent it 
twirling to the water. Max Gaudet could 
not turn the hydroplane quick enough to 
follow the bird. “We’ll try again,” he ex- 
claimed directing his flight upwards, where a 
single pelican was soaring away. 

“Now’s your time!” for the bird almost 
dropped into the lap of the boy. “Hold 
fast!” 

“I’ve got him!” cried the boy. It proved to 
be a rather young bird, and had not the 
strength of the one that had escaped. 

“Hold it tight, or it will get away!” 

“I’ve got him!” repeated the boy in a loud 
tone. 

“Where is the house?” asked the aviator of 
the boy. 

Phil could not at first locate it, unaccus- 
tomed as he was to making observations from 
such a distance. 

“I see three houses,” said the man; “one of 
them must be the Reed’s place.” 

“There’s only one,” said the boy, for he 
did not know that other houses had been built 
in the locality during his absence; nor was he 


220 


On the Wings of Evening 

aware that the Reed family was watching him 
from the garden. 

All that day the little Reeds and the mother 
had worked in the truck garden planting 
peas. True it was not hard work and the 
smallest child of seven could, in the course of 
a day, do its task, which was of considerable 
value. 

Frequently the planting had been inter- 
rupted for play, while a lunch of jam and 
bread had been served in the morning, with 
the sweetest of grape pies in the afternoon. 
Although the weather was ideal and the task 
light, the children were tired as the afternoon 
drew to an end. 

“Come dears, this will do to-day,” said the 
mother, and there was such a clapping of 
hands. 

“I’m tired,” said little Marcella who had 
done heroically. 

“Me, too,” cried the others. 

There was still greater joy when the little 
folks were informed that they could invite the 
Cooms children over the next day for a picnic. 

While the little laborers were resting, Eliza- 


221 


On the Wings of Evening 

beth caught sight of a big bird in the heavens. 

“It’s a flying machine,” said Mary. “I saw 
one in the park in New York.” 

“Me, too,” cried out Isabel. 

Over the head of the children it flew as the 
pilot picked out a safe place to land. 

“Oh, it’s coming to us!” shouted the chil- 
dren clapping their hands with glee. 

“Oh, it’s going away!” cried some one. 

Evidently the pilot could not find a suit- 
able place to land and had decided to drop 
into the water. For two days there had been 
a high wind, which not only raised hugh bil- 
lows in the Gulf of Mexico in front of the 
house, but swept far into the narrow cur- 
rents among the upper part of the Ten Thou- 
sand Islands. 

It required considerable maneuvering on 
the part of the pilot to find a stretch of 
water for alighting; when his machine did 
come to rest it was fully two miles from the 
Reed household. 

“What will we do?” he asked the boy. “You 
have no canoe and can’t get home from this 
place.” 


222 On the Wings of Evening 

“Sometimes the Gulf is as smooth as this 
place,” said the boy. 

“Yes, but the heavy sea will not go down 
to-day. How would you like to sleep here 
and let me come after you to-morrow. But, 
no,” he said after a short pause, for he saw 
that the boy was not willing to be left alone a 
second time, even if he were near his home. 

“Let us send word by the pelican,” said the 
boy, recalling his former success. 

“How will you do it this time?” 

“We can cut its wings and drop it into the 
yard.” 

“Bully!” cried the aviator. “The biggest 
carrier-pigeon ever used. I’ve got the paper 
and string.” 

From his tool-box Captain Max Gaudet 
took a sheet of note-paper and wrote the fol- 
lowing: 

Somewhere in Ten Thousand Islands, 
March 27, 1918. 

From: Phil Reed and Captain Max Gaudet. 
To: The Reeds, mother and children. 


On the Wings of Evening 228 

Subject: The Return of Phil Reed and also 
Mr. Thomas Reed. 

This to inform you that Mr. Thomas Reed 
has met with an accident that will delay him 
a few days. He is on his way home and has 
provisions. Phil Reed was in the machine 
that flew over your house half an hour ago. 
He will return to-morrow. He asks pardon 
for running away, and wishes to come back 
home. 


Captain Max Gaudet, Instructor. 

Curtis Aviation Field, Miami, Fla. 

“An official document/’ remarked the 
aviator as he read over the message couched 
in military form. “Have you a knife?” he 
asked. 

“No, sir.” 

“We must be careful not to cut the wings 
too short,” said the man. “We want the bird 
to sail down into the yard. If the wings are 
too short the fall will kill it; and if they are 
too long the bird may fly out into the water. 
Can you hold it?” 


224 On the Wings of Evening 

“You bet I can. I think it is a young 
bird,” said the boy. 

Max Gaudet set to work trimming the 
feathers. “I am going to sail down, right over 
the children’s heads,” he explained. “Won’t 
they be surprised!” 

It required only a few minutes to tie the 
paper to the pelican’s leg. Then over the water 
and up into the air shot the hydroplane. 

“It’s coming back!” cried out Isabel who 
was the first to catch a view of the returning 
machine. 

Little hands clapped and little voices called 
out aloud as the hydroplane encircled the 
house dropping closer and closer to the earth. 
So close it came that Benjamin clung close 
to his mother in fright, and the baby cried. 
The other children scarcely breathed as the 
big wings swept right overhead. 

“Let it go!” was the command of the 
aviator. 

Phil dropped the bird. 

Like a toy aeroplane it sailed slowly to the 
ground. 

With his glasses Captain Gaudet saw the 


On the Wings of Evening 225 

mother pick up the bird and read the note. 
Turning his machine he started back to the 
Palmettoes. 


CHAPTER XXIV 


THE LAST FLIGHT 

ouldn't land, but sent word by a car- 
rier-pigeon,” were the words of Cap- 
tain Max Gaudet as he stepped out on the 
Palmettoes, followed by Phil. 

“Wasn’t the truck garden large enough?” 
asked Thomas Reed who had run down to 
the shore to meet the returning party. 

“Looked too rough!” 

“And the Gulf?” 

“Waves mountain high.” 

“And the pigeon, how did you get a 
pigeon?” asked the excited man. 

“A monster! I am going to introduce 
them in the United States aerial service,” 
and Max Gaudet told the two men of his 
and Phil’s experience. 

“And are you sure that they got the mes- 
sage?” asked Thomas Reed. 

226 


The Last Flight 227 

“Saw your wife pick up the bird and read 
the note.” 

“You’ll be sure to return to-morrow.” 

“I’ll be back early in the morning. Phil 
and I will try it again.” 

“How do you like flying?” asked Mr. Reed 
of the boy. 

“I was scared at first. But, gee, you can 
go home while you count Jack Robinson,” he 
said. 

Some refreshments were served before the 
aviator prepared to return to the camp. 

True to his promise Captain Gaudet was 
back early on the following morning. Phil, 
who now considered himself an experienced 
flyer, lost no time in joining his friend. Off 
they went. In a short time Mr. Reed and 
Mr. Green also left the island. 

The water in front of the Reed house was 
without a ruffle. Into it the machine dropped. 
Lowering the rubber canoe the man and boy 
were soon on the shore. 

Phil Reed ran ahead of the pilot and kissed 
Mrs. Reed, who was crying, and the little 
girls who were dancing and clapping their* 
hands. 


228 The Last Flight 

“Will you be my mother again?” said the 
prodigal. 

“Your own dear mother;” and she took him 
in her arms. “I knew you would come back 
again.” 

“And may I call you mother?” pleaded the 
boy. 

“Yes, my dear child, yes.” 

“And these are my little sisters,” cried the 
boy and he fell to kissing them again. 

“Oh, Phil, we are so glad, so very glad 
you’ve come; and you’ve got some big boys 
to play with,” said Mary. 

Here Phil was introduced to Master Rapier 
Cooms from Maryland. 

While the children were rejoicing and Phil 
was giving them an incoherent recital of his 
adventures, Captain Gaudet further explained 
to Mrs. Reed about her husband’s accident and 
his losing the canoe. It would take him ten 
days to reach home. But the aviator promised 
to come each day and report progress. As 
he would be out over the Everglades for 
practice, it would require less than half an 
hour for him to fly over the Reed home. They 


229 


The Last Flight 

could watch for him and pick up a message 
which he would drop from the machine. Shak- 
ing hands with Mrs. Reed, Phil, and all the 
children, he went back to his machine and soon 
disappeared in the sky. 

Each day Captain Gaudet brought his mes- 
sage to the Reed family. All the neighbors 
came over to hear the news. Phil was intro- 
duced to Giovani Arrata, an Italian, and 
Clifford Savage from a town in Virginia. 
Roth families had recently come to the 
Catholic settlement, and others were ex- 
pected. 

At last Phil Reed would have companions. 
The boys needed no introduction. Phil was 
soon giving them an account of his adventure ; 
then he whispered a secret. Only the boys 
should know it. Somewhere in the Ever- 
glades there was a trunk full of gold. He 
would take the boys with him and they would 
find it. 

“Gee! Won’t that be great?” said the little 
Italian, Giovani Arrata, and suiting his ac- 
tion to his words, he began to gather up 
imaginary gold coins in his open hands. 


230 


The Last Flight 

“Will you give us some?” asked Rapier 
Cooms, a retiring lad just from his father’s 
farm in Maryland. 

“Of course, he will,” put in Clifford Sav- 
age, who could boast a Yankee family tree. 

“Well, he don’t have to,” replied young 
Cooms gently. 

“Of course he does,” said Clifford. 

“He found it, and it’s his,” claimed Rapier. 

“It ain’t found yet,” retorted Clifford. “If 
we help him to discover it we get our part. 
I read a book once about three men discover- 
ing gold, and they divided it equal.” 

“That wouldn’t be right,” exclaimed the 
Italian; “it’s his and we are only going to 
help him. He gets the biggest share.” 

“Of course, he does,” chimed in Rapier 
Cooms. 

“Wait until we find it boys,” broke in Phil. 
“But if we get the trunk I’ll see that every 
boy gets his share.” 

As this was satisfactory to all Phil went on 
with his narrative. 

A letter which the aviator brought to the 
Reed family on the eighth day stated that the 


231 


The Last Flight 

men had reached the Great Cypress Swamp 
and expected to arrive home in two days. 
Moreover they would have some company. 
Major Larnar, the commanding officer of the 
Curtis Aviation Field, and a well known con- 
tractor, Mr. Marcus O’Donnell, of Miami 
City, had accepted an invitation to dine with 
the Reeds when the head of the family reached 
home. Captain Gaudet had obtained permis- 
sion to join the company. It was explained 
that three hydroplanes would bring the party. 

Just think of it! Three flying-machines 
to come at one time. How the children 
clapped their hands with joy. 

The neighbors came over to assist in the 
preparation for the dinner. 

The calculations were all correct, for just 
before noon of the second day the canoe 
swung in sight of Pelican Island, while al- 
most at the same time the three hydroplanes 
began to encircle the farm. 

Never was there such a joyful crowd and 
never had so many people gathered within 
the new settlement ! 

After numerous introductions and explana- 


232 


The Last Flight 

tions dinner was announced; but when the 
guests had taken their places Phil Reed was 
missing. 

He and his boy friends had run over to 
look at the canoe. Phil showed them the big 
rifle with which he had killed the deer, the 
tent, and all the other wonders of the equip- 
ment. This was the canoe in which they 
would seek the trunk of gold. 

If they could only start at once. Some 
one else might find the trunk! The trunk 
might have rotted and the gold coin might 
be scattered around or hid in the heavy grass 
which Phil had described! Could they ask 
Mr. Reed’s permission to start that night? 
No! No! That would give the secret away! 
They must wait; but the secret — no one must 
know of the secret — only the four boys must 
know of the secret — must know of the trunk of 
gold. 

Their dreams were interrupted by Mr. 
Reed, who was yelling to them that dinner 
was ready. 

After dinner, and the general rejoicing, the 
guests prepared to depart. All went down to 


233 


The Last Flight 

the shore to see the hydroplanes off. Slowly 
they went over the surface, then faster, then 
they rose from the water, and with giant 
wings swept into the air. 

Phil Reed, with his young friends at his 
side, stood watching the hydroplanes as they 
sailed over the water, sailed over Pelican 
Island, sailed over Big Cypress Swamp, sailed 
over the Everglades; and his thoughts sailed 
away with the machines, sailed away to the 
mysterious Everglades where he had been, 
and where he, one day, hoped to be again. 

On the following morning Phil Reed was 
back at work in the truck garden, back to the 
realities and drudgery of life. But there was 
now a change in that life! He had resolved 
to be unselfish, to be grateful. He had found 
companions — companions with whom he could 
hunt and fish and play ball, when the duties of 
work were finished. But never did the boys 
meet that they did not talk in whispers of the 
lost trunk of gold. 

About a month later, Mr. Reed brought in 
from the mail-steamer a curious letter. It 
was from France and directed to Phil Reed. 


234 The Last Flight 

It read: 

Dear Phil: 

I am dying. I am dictating this letter to 
a Catholic Sister, and your teacher, Sister 
Valentine. She has been so good to me. I 
kept my word and proved that I was willing 
to die for my country. I volunteered to drive 
a truck along the Aisne River where ammuni- 
tion was running out. I knew I hadn’t much 
of a chance, but I got ammunition to the 
guns. I was hit three times. I am happy, 
for I have died for my country. Phil, I give 
you the canoe and all the equipment which 
we took to the Everglades. 

Your friend, 

Ferdinand Rauderly, the Slacker. 

But the word slacker had been crossed out 
by the Sister, and in it’s place was written in 
capital letters the word, HERO. 


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BLACK BROTHERHOOD, THE. Garrold, SJ. 

BOND AND FREE. Connor. 

“BUT THY LOVE AND THY GRACE.” Finn, S.J. 

BY THE BLUE RIVER. Clarke. 

CARROLL DARE. Waggaman. 

CHILDREN OF EVE. Clarke. 

CIRCUS-RIDER’S DAUGHTER. Brackel. 

CONNOR D’ARCY’S STRUGGLES. Bertholds. 
CORINNE’S VOW. Waggaman. 

DAUGHTER OF KINGS', A. Hinkson. 

DEEP HEART, THE. Clarke. 

DION AND THE SIBYLS. Keon. 

ELDER MISS AINSBOROUGH. Taggart. 

ELSTONES, THE. Clarke. 

EUNICE. Clarke. 

FABIOLA. Wiseman. 

FABIOLA’S SISTERS. Clarke. 

FATAL BEACON, THE. Brackel. 

FAUSTULA. Ayscough. 

FINE CLAY. Clarke. 

FLOWERS OF THE CLOISTER. La Motte. 

FORGIVE AND FORGET. Lingen. 

GRAPES AND THORNS. Waggaman. 

HEART OF A MAN, THE. Maher. 

HEARTS OF GOLD. Edhor. 

HEIRESS OF CRONENSTEIN. Hahn-Hahn. 

HER BLIND FOLLY. Holt. 

HER FATHER’S DAUGHTER. Hinkson. 

HER FATHER’S SHARE. Power. 

HER JOURNEY’S END. Cooke. 

IDOLS; OR THE SECRET OF THE RUE CHAUSSEE 
D’ANTIN. Navery. 

IN GOD’S GOOD TIME. Ross. 

IN THE DAYS OF KING HAL. Taggart. 

IN SPITE OF ALL. Staniforth. 

IVY HEDGE, THE. Egan. 

KIND HEARTS AND CORONETS. Harrison. 

LIGHT OF HIS COUNTENANCE. Harte. 

“LIKE UNTO A MERCHANT.” Gray. 

LINKED LIVES. Douglas. 

LITTLE CARDINAL, THE. Parr. 

MARCELLA GRACE. Mulholland. 

MARIAE COROLLA. (Poems). Hill, C.P. 

MARIE OF THE HOUSE D’ANTERS. Earls, S.J. 
MELCHIOR OF BOSTON. Earls, S.J. 

MIGHTY FRIEND, THE. L’Ermite. 

MIRROR OF SHALOTT. Benson. 

9 


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MISS ERIN. Francis. net , 0 

MONK’S PARDON, THE. Navery. net, 0 

MR. BILLY BUTTONS. Lecky. net , 1 

MY LADY BEATRICE. Cooke. net, 0 

NOT A JUDGMENT. Neon. net, 1 

ONLY ANNE. Clarke. net, 1 

OTHER MISS LISLE, THE. Martin. net, 0 

OUT OF BONDAGE. Holt. net, 1 

OUTLAW OF CAMARGUE, THE. de Lamothb. net, 0 

PASSING SHADOWS. Yorke. net, 1 

PAT. Hinkson. net, 1 

PERE MONNIER’S WARD. Lecky. net, 1 

PILKINGTON HEIR, THE. Sadlier. net, l 

PRISONERS’ YEARS. Clarke. net, 1 

PRODIGAL’S DAUGHTER, THE. Bugg. net, 1 

PROPHET’S WIFE, THE. Browne. net, 1 

RED INN OF ST. LYPHAR. Sadlier. net, 1 

REST HOUSE, THE. Clarke. net, 1 

ROAD BEYOND THE TOWN, THE, AND OTHER 

POEMS. Earls, S.J. net, 1 

ROSE OF THE WORLD. Martin. net, 0 

ROUND TABLE OF AMERICAN CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. 

(Stories.) net, 0 

ROUND TABLE OF FRENCH CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. 

(Stories.) net, 0 

ROUND TABLE OF GERMAN CATHOLIC NOVELISTS. 

(Stories.) net, 0 

ROUND TABLE OF IRISH AND ENGLISH CATHOLIC 

NOVELISTS. (Stories.) net, 0 

RUBY CROSS, THE. Wallace. net, 1 

RULER OF THE KINGDOM, THE. Keon. net, 1 

SECRET CITADEL, THE. Clarke. net, 1 

SECRET OF THE GREEN VASE. Cooke. net, 0 

SHADOW OF EVERSLEIGH, THE. Lansdowne. net, 0 

SHIELD OF SILENCE, THE. Henry-Ruffin. net, 1 

SO AS BY FIRE. Connor. net, 0 

SOGGARTH AROON, THE. Guinan. net, 1 

SON OF SIRO. Copus, S.J. net, 1 

STORY OF CECILIA. Hinkson. net, 1 

STUORE. (Stories). Earls, S.J. net, 1 

TEMPEST OF THE HEART, THE. Gray. net, 0 

TEST OF COURAGE, THE. Ross. net, 0 

THAT MAN’S DAUGHTER. Ross. net, 1 

THEIR CHOICE. Skinner. net, 0 

THROUGH THE DESERT. Sienkiewicz. net, ||1 

TIDEWAY, THE. Ayscough. net, 1 

TRAINING OF SILAS. Devine. net, 1 

TRUE STORY OF MASTER GERARD. Sadlier. net, 1 

TURN OF THE TIDE. Gray. net, 0 

UNBIDDEN GUEST, THE. Cooke. net, 0 

UNDER THE CEDARS AND THE STARS. Sheehan, net, til 
UNRAVELLING OF A TANGLE. Taggart. net, 1 

UP IN ARDMUIRLAND. Barrett, O.S.B. net, 1 

VOCATION OF EDWARD CONWAY. Egan. net, 1 

WARGRAVE TRUST, THE. Reid. net, 1 

WAR MOTHERS. (Poems). Garesch£, S.J. net, 0 

WAY THAT LED BEYOND, THE. Harrison. net, 1 

WEDDING BELLS OF GLENDALOUGH. Earls, S.J. net, 1 

WHEN LOVE IS STRONG. Keon. net, 1 

WHOSE NAME IS LEGION. Clarke. net, 1 

WOMAN OF FORTUNE. Reid. net 1 

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JUVENILES’. 

ADVENTURE WITH THE APACHES. Ferry. net , 0 

ALTHEA. Nirdlinger. net , 0 

AS GOLD IN THE FURNACE. Copus. 1 

AS TRUE AS GOLD. Mannix. net , 0 

AT THE FOOT OF THE SAND-HILLS.. Spalding, S.J. 1 
BELL FOUNDRY. Schaching. net , 0 

BERKLEYS’, THE. Wight. net , 0 

BEST FOOT FORWARD, THE. Finn. 1 

BETWEEN FRIENDS. Aumerle. net , 0 

BISTOURI. Melandri. net , 0 

BLISSYLVANIA POST-OFFICE, THE. Taggart. net , 0 

BOB O’LINK. Waggaman. net , 0 

BROWNIE AND I. Aumerle. net , 0 

BUNT AND BILL. Mulholland. net , 0 

BY BRANSCOME RIVER. Taggart. net , 0 

CAMP BY COPPER RIVER. Spalding, S.J. 1 

CAPTAIN TED. Waggaman. net , 0 

CAVE BY THE BEECH FORK. Spalding, S.J. 1 

CHARLIE CHITTYWICK. Bearne. 1 

CHILDREN OF CUPA. Mannix. net , 0 

CHILDREN OF THE LOG CABIN. Delamare. net , 0 

CLARE LORAINE. “Lee.” net , 0 

CLAUDE LIGHTFOOT. Finn. 1 

COLLEGE BOY, A. Yorice. 1 

CUPA REVISITED. Mannix. net , 0 

CUPID OF CAMPION. Finn. 1 

DADDY DAN. Waggaman. net , 0 

DEAR FRIENDS. Nirdlinger. net , 0 

DIMPLING’S SUCCESS. Mulholland. net , 0 

ETHELRED PRESTON. Finn. 1 

EVERY-DAY GIRL, AN. Crowley. net , 0 

FAIRY OF THE SNOWS, THE. Finn. 1 

FINDING OF TONY, THE. Waggaman. 1 

FIVE BIRDS' IN A NEST. Delamare. net , 0 

FLOWER OF THE FLOCK, THE. Egan. 1 

FOR THE WHITE ROSE. Hinkson. net , 0 

FRED’S LITTLE DAUGHTER. Smith. net , 0 

FREDDY CARR’S ADVENTURES. Garrold. net , 0 

FREDDY CARR AND HIS FRIENDS. Garrold. net , 0 

GOLDEN LILLY, THE. Hinkson. net , 0 

GREAT CAPTAIN, THE. Hinkson. net , 0 

GUILD BOYS’ PLAY AT RIDINGDALE. Bearne. 1 

HALDEMAN CHILDREN, THE. Mannix. net , 0 

HARMONY FLATS. Whitmire. net , 0 

HARRY DEE. Finn. 1 

HARRY RUSSELL. Copus. 1 

HEIR OF DREAMS, AN. O’Malley. net , 0 

HELD IN THE EVERGLADES'. Spalding, S.J. 1 

HIS FIRST AND LAST APPEARANCE. Finn. 1 

HIS LUCKIEST YEAR. Finn. 1 

HOSTAGE OF WAR, A. Bonesteel. net , 0 

HOW THEY WORKED THEIR WAY. Egan. net , 0 

IN QUEST OF ADVENTURE. Mannix. net , 0 

IN QUEST OF THE GOLDEN CHEST. Barton. net , 0 

JACK. Religious H. C. J. net , 0 

JACK HILDRETH ON THE NILE. Taggart. net , 0 

JACK-O’-LANTERN. Waggaman. net , 0 

JUNIORS' OF ST. BEDE’S. Bryson. net , 0 

JUVENILE ROUND TABLE. Series I, II, III. Each, 1 

KLONDIKE PICNIC, A. Donnelly. net , 0 

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LITTLE APOSTLE ON CRUTCHES. Delamare. net, 0 

LITTLE GIRL FROM BACK EAST. Roberts. net, 0 

LITTLE LADY OF THE HALL. Ryeman. net , 0 

LITTLE MARSHALLS AT THE LAKE. Nixon-Roulet. net, 0 
LITTLE MISSY. Waggaman. net, 0 

LOYAL BLUE AND ROYAL SCARLET. Taggart. 1 

LUCKY BOB. Finn. 1 

MAD KNIGHT, THE. Schaching. net, 0 

MADCAP SET AT ST. ANNE’S. Brunowe. net, 0 

MAKING OF MORTLAKE. Copus. 1 

MAN FROM NOWHERE, THE. Sadlier. 1 

MARKS OF THE BEAR CLAWS. Spalding, S'.J. * 1 

MARY TRACY’S FORTUNE. Sadlier. net, 0 

MELOR OF THE SILVER HAND. Bearne. 1 

MILLY AVELING. Smith. net, 0 

MIRALDA. Johnston. net, 0 

MOSTLY BOYS. Finn. 1 

MYSTERIOUS DOORWAY. Sadlier. net, 0 

MYSTERY OF CLEVERLY. Barton. net, 0 

MYSTERY OF HORNBY HALL. Sadlier. net, 0 

NAN NOBODY. Waggaman. net, 0 

NED RIEDER. Wehs. net, 0 

NEW BOYS AT RIDINGDALE. Bearne. 1 

NEW SCHOLAR AT ST. ANNE’S. Brunowe. net, 0 

OLD CHARLMONT’S SEED-BED. Smith. net, 0 

OLD MILL ON THE WITHROSE. Spalding, S.J. 1 

ON THE OLD CAMPING GROUND. Mannix. 1 

OUR LADY’S LUTENIST. Bearne. 1 

PANCHO AND PANCHITA. Mannix. net, 0 

PAULINE ARCHER. Sadlier. net, 0 

PERCY WYNN. Finn. 1 

PERIL OF DIONYSIO, THE. Mannix. net, 0 

PETRONILLA, AND OTHER STORIES'. Donnelly. net, 0 
PICKLE AND PEPPER. Dorsey. 1 

PILGRIM FROM IRELAND. Carnot. net, 0 

PLAYWATER PLOT, THE. Waggaman. net, 0 

POLLY DAY’S ISLAND. Roberts. 1 

POVERINA. Buckenham. net, 0 

QUEEN’S PAGE, THE. Hinkson. net, 0 

QUEEN’S PROMISE, TPIE. Waggaman. net, 0 

QUEST OF MARY SELWYN. Clementia. 1 

RACE FOR COPPER ISLAND. Spalding, S.J. 1 

RECRUIT TOMMY COLLINS. Bcnesteel. net, 0 

RIDINGDALE FLOWER SHOW. Bearne. 1 

ROMANCE OF THE SILVER SHOON. Bearne. 1 

ST. CUTHBERT’S. Copus. 1 

SANDY JOE. Waggaman. 1 

SEA-GULLS’ ROCK. Sandeau. net, 0 

SEVEN LITTLE MARSHALLS. Nixon-Roulet. net, 0 

SHADOWS LIFTED. Copus. 1 

SHEER PLUCK. Bearne. 1 

SHERIFF OF THE BEECH FORK. Spalding, S.J. 1 

SHIPMATES'. Waggaman. net, 0 

STRONG-ARM OF AVALON. Waggaman. 1 

SUGAR CAMP AND AFTER. Spalding, S.J. l 

SUMMER AT WOODVILLE, A. Sadlier. net, 0 

TALISMAN, THE. Sadlier. net, 0 

TAMING OF POLLY, THE. Dorsey. 1 

THAT FOOTBALL GAME. Finn. 1 

THAT OFFICE BOY. Finn. 1 


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THREE LITTLE GIRLS’, AND ESPECIALLY ONE. 
Taggart. 

TOLD IN THE TWILIGHT. Salome. 

TOM LOSELY: BOY. Copus. 

TOM PLAYFAIR. Finn. 

TOM’S LUCK-POT. Waggaman. 

TOORALLADDY. By Julia C. Walsh. 
TRANSPLANTING OF TESSIE. Waggaman. 
TREASURE OF NUGGET MOUNTAIN. Taggart. 
TWO LITTLE GIRLS. Mack. 

UNCLE FRANK’S MARY. Clementia. 

UPS’ AND DOWNS OF MARJORIE. Waggaman. 
VIOLIN MAKER, THE. Smith. 

WAYWARD WINIFRED. Sadlier. 

WINNETOU, THE APACHE KNIGHT. Taggart. 
WITCH OF RIDINGDALE. Bearne. 

YOUNG COLOR GUARD. Bonesteel. 


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